


Ssibaji

by AirgiodSLV, impasto



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: BDSM, M/M, S/D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-12
Updated: 2004-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV, https://archiveofourown.org/users/impasto/pseuds/impasto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For our beloved wife. Kate, darling, we love you. Many thanks to Captnobvious for the beta.</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Elijah leans casually against the doorway to the kitchen, calls a final, "Tomorrow, noon, Orlando! Don't you dare be late!" across the room to where Orlando is being all but pushed out the front door by an impatient Dom, who seems to have finally reached his tolerance level for the teasing Elijah has been up to all night. Carefully murmured code words, casual brushes of skin on skin, the slightest suggestion of innuendo...Dom has been alert and aware of him since the party hit full swing, and that was nearly two-and-a-half hours ago.

He waits until the door shuts firmly on their last guest before widening his smile into something more dangerous, feeling possessive as his gaze travels over Dom's body, which is nearly vibrating with held tension. "Everything all right, Dom?" he inquires innocently. He doesn't move from the doorway, waits for Dom to come to him. "Enjoy the party?"

  
Elijah, Dom thinks, is a ruthless man. It's not a new discovery, not by a long shot, but only a ruthless man would tease him like that for the entire night, with all these guests about. And even Dom knows that it's bad form for the hosts to sneak off for a quick shag simply because one of them has been molesting the hors d'ouevre with his tongue. Or pressing up against him in the hallway to squeeze past their friends, flimsy apologies undermined by a single whispered word that sent a coil of heat through Dom. Or looking at him with big blue eyes, perfectly cool as he chats with some director about camera positions, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips.

Elijah knew bloody well what he doing, and Dom's certain that he's enjoyed watching him squirm all evening as he felt the stirrings of an erection, until at last Dom retreated to the kitchen and the cover of the countertop. Wound up tight as a bow, and thank god Orlando's left, because ruthless Elijah may be, but he'll finish what he's started.

And, from the tone of Elijah's voice - still light and teasing - it's clear that they've only just begun. Dom itches to cover the distance between them (three strides, at most) and drop to his knees. He'll do anything Elijah asks, just to find release.

But he knows the game, and there are rules. He may not always play by them, but Dom knows they're there. Besides, he doesn't want to give Elijah the satisfaction of breaking him that easily.

Dom breathes in through his nose (pause) and out through his mouth. He can't quite look at Elijah's face; instead, he fixes his eyes on Elijah's shirtsleeve.

"M'fine." His voice is almost steady. It would be enough to convince most people. "Had a good time, 'Lij." And he's still watching Elijah's sleeve, except there's also Elijah's arm, slim taut muscle and bone that's a hell of a lot stronger than anyone would guess. Strong enough to pin Dom to the mattress, or the living room floor, or the nearest wall.

And that's it. Before he even knows it, Dom's inches away from Elijah, hands hovering, body practically thrumming. Elijah's eyes are dark and glittering and unblinking, and how is it that he seems taller, bigger than Dom?

Without a second thought, or even a first, the word slips out of Dom's mouth. "Bitte."

  
"Bedroom," Elijah counters, although his eyes soften slightly, the teasing changing into something more serious and possessive. He lifts one hand and his finger traces Dom's lips without touching, leaving the charge between them incomplete and crackling. "You've waited for me this long, haven't you?"

He follows Dom down the hall, drinking in the tension and nerves that sing to him from Dom's body like a shower of sparks. As soon as they make it through the door, he's in motion, turning Dom around and pushing him onto the bed, his hands holding down Dom's shoulders and his tongue already seeking entrance into Dom's lush mouth.

Dom yields without a fight, beautiful in surrender, and Elijah murmurs an endearment as he settles astride Dom's hips, whispering into Dom's hungry mouth. His fingers slide down Dom's shoulders to find his hands, linking their fingers and raising them above the pillows to the headboard, closing Dom's fingers gently over the vertical wooden bars. "Hold," he orders quietly, leaving Dom's lips to nibble at his throat, sucking folds of soft skin between his teeth to tease and release before sitting back up, eyes roaming over Dom in satisfaction.

"Do you want me to fuck you, Dom?" he asks, leaning back and relaxing, his fingers slowly working the buttons through the holes of his shirt, one-by-one. "Are you going to tell me how you want me to do it? What you want me to do to you?" The last one slides through, shirt falling open to let the cool air whisper over his chest. "Or do you want me to tell you?"

  
Right now, all Dom wants is to grasp Elijah's shirt and twist, pull it off his shoulders. There's nothing stopping him except a breath, a word, mere air. His fingers slip, and he has to concentrate hard as he curves his palms around the bars, tightening his grip. Elijah's been sharp about this, and there's no way Dom's going to start them off on a bad foot tonight.

"Connard," he growls, and he uses the leverage from the headboard and his heels digging into the mattress to arch up, lifting Elijah off the bed. The contact is hot and blinding, crushing, and Dom's body gives way with a soft thump.

"You feel that?" he challenges, and the way Elijah's sitting there on top of him, so straight and easy, is maddening. "Take a guess."

  
"Hush, Dom," Elijah says easily, hanging onto his balance and shrugging his shirt off, tossing it over the edge of the bed onto the floor. One hand drops to the fly of his jeans, flicking the button open with casual ease, dragging down the zipper with malicious slowness. "Maybe I don't care about what you want, tonight." He eases a hand inside the waistband of his boxers, lets his eyelids lower to half-mast at the contact and squeezes enough to make his breathing slightly more ragged.

"Maybe it's all about me." His hips push up slightly, just enough that his weight leaves Dom's hips, only to return and settle his ass against the hard bulge of Dom's cock. "What would you do then, hmm? What if I just wanted to get off and let..." He pauses for a quick, indrawn breath, a hissing exhalation as his thumb teases over the head. "...let you watch."

  
Dom nods, tucking his chin to his chest, and now he can see better, watch the shift of tendons in Elijah's wrist...but he can't see what he wants to see. The tantalizing slow jerk of fabric over Elijah's hands makes him swallow, his throat already dry with want. His hands are damp, forcing him to rework his grip, and why couldn't Elijah just get the handcuffs and be done with it? Bloody wanker. There's a mild burn in his shoulders that Dom relishes; he flexes his arms to feel the strain.

His eyes flicker up to Elijah's face, to his parted lips and his eyelashes quivering slightly and the hint of colour in his cheeks. His hand is still moving, and he seems oblivious to Dom's presence. That's not on at all.

Dom swallows again, clearing his throat, though his voice sounds like it was raked over gravel. "I could help you there, mate. You're doing it all wrong."

  
"Criticizing, Dom?" Elijah asks, deceptively calm. He stops moving, ignores the twitch of his impatient cock in his hand and lets go, slipping his hand free of his boxers and wiping his palm casually on the material of his jeans. "I suppose you think you can do better? That you're more talented?"

His fingers push beneath Dom's shirt, tracing feather-light over a rib, warning with the soft touch of his fingertips against Dom's skin. He leans forward, looking down into Dom's eyes, and then glances casually up at the headboard, to Dom's white-knuckled hands. "And don't you dare let go," he threatens, fingers tripping into a pinch over Dom's abdomen. "Or you don't want to know what I'll do to you." He arches, bringing his cock against Dom's in a slow, grinding tease. "It won't be this."

  
Dom's sure that Elijah's said something, twisted his own words, something about talent (when it's indubitably clear at the moment that the talent lies in Elijah's fingers, springing prickles of heat under his skin), but he can't fathom a retort. It's enough to try and concentrate on breathing, to roll his hips into the lush pressure of Elijah's. He can't help grinning, knowing that Elijah's hard, and oh, what Dom wants to do for him.

But there's something else, a second warning. Shit. Elijah's really been on this lately, and Dom tries, he really does, and he wants it because Elijah does, but Christ. What's wrong with ropes and chains, all the stuff that supposedly makes this so kinky? Even Elijah's hands, holding him down, yeah, that'd be good. But this willpower stuff...he's never been able to manage it. And he knows the consequences (pretty damn unforgettable, actually. There's still marks on his hip from last week; hurts like hell in the shower), it's just that he can't help it. When Elijah works him up, twists him inside out, his body just wants to move.

But Dom will try again. Because Elijah's asking him to. It's that simple.

Elijah makes a little dig, and the seam of Dom's jeans scrapes against his cock. His eyes widen; he shifts, wanting more contact (always more), and when he takes a deep breath, his ribs rise under Elijah's fingertips. He looks up to find Elijah, smooth and hard-edged and gorgeous, and somehow it's still astonishing. He's unreal, and Dom's a lucky bastard.

Even now, though, Dom can't let Elijah get away with vague threats. "Care to," and his breath only catches a little as Elijah's thumb flickers over his nipple, "elaborate?"

  
Elijah laughs, a low chuckle that vibrates between their bodies, and slides forward to straddle Dom's chest, eyes glinting. His hips jut forward suggestively, hands sliding over Dom's dusk-rose nipples and pushing his shirt up around his neck. "Is that what you want?" he asks amusedly, bringing a finger to Dom's mouth in an echo of earlier actions, this time letting the tip rest on the plump curves of Dom's lips. "For me to tell you what the plan is for tonight? How I'm going to fuck you, how long and how hard?" He smiles at the look on Dom's face, his body tightening in anticipation, knowing that Dom is as worked up and eager as he is. "What I'm going to use on you, to make sure you enjoy it? How it's going to feel against your naked skin?"

Elijah doesn't need to glance up to know that Dom's hands haven't moved, are right where they're supposed to be. Dom's mouth, on the other hand.

"Lube," he orders, pushing two fingers between Dom's lips into the hot cavern of his mouth, curving them to stroke Dom's tongue. "I think your mouth needs to be occupied." His other hand slips back into his boxers, shoving them down over his hips along with his jeans so that his cock springs free, flushed and waiting. "And when you're finished with those, I'll give you something else to work on."

  
Dom eagerly accepts Elijah's fingers, even as they slide along the back of his tongue and there's a breathless flash of constricting muscles in his throat, pure reflex. It's just as instinctive, though, to open himself, and Dom does, curling his tongue around Elijah's fingers, feeling his teeth scrape lightly over Elijah's knuckles.

As much as Elijah talks, and as much as Dom loves to talk back, he finds it hard to protest when Elijah silences him like this. When he lets Dom touch him, lets Dom see Elijah's eyes on him, Dom knows the agony of hours past will pay off. His lips curve into a smile around Elijah; his gaze slips over Elijah's pale chest, smooth planes unmarred (not like his), down to the shadow of Elijah's navel. Dom's view is half-blocked by Elijah's forearm, and even when he cranes his neck at an unavoidably awkward angle, he can't quite see Elijah's cock. Too close - absurd to think that Elijah's cock could ever be to close, but it is, and yet not close enough. Dom can sense Elijah's heat, feel the ghost weight of Elijah's cock in his mouth, and he wants it so badly, but it's not quite there. It's all he can do to mouth Elijah's fingers, licking between the webbing of his skin, as he tries to convince Elijah that he can do this.

  
"What's wrong?" Elijah asks, twisting his fingers in Dom's mouth, playing along the slippery length of Dom's tongue. "Are you wondering why I haven't chained you, liebchen? Does it bother you that there aren't any restraints holding you down?" He leans in, pulls his fingers out and paints Dom's lips with his own slick saliva, murmuring low between them. "Do you need them? Do you want the feel of cold metal against your skin while I'm fucking you?"

He sits back abruptly, shifting to kneel between Dom's legs, and grabs Dom's fly, undoing the buttons and yanking the rough material down all the way over Dom's feet and ankles, tugging Dom's socks off at the same time. His lips curl into a smile at the sight of Dom's cock, bare and proud, standing out from between his thighs in a silent plea for attention. Elijah slides back up the length of Dom's body, stretching out on top of him and reaching with one hand for the drawer in the bedside table, the other slithering back up Dom's hot, wet mouth.

"Suck," he murmurs, pressing his denim-shrouded hips into Dom's bare skin. "Like you know where they're going. And I'll see what I can do to make you more comfortable, yeah? Find something to keep you in line."

  
Again – always, when it's like this – Elijah's running questions at him far too quickly for Dom to process. The words aren't nearly as tangible as the jeans chafing his skin, gone in an instant, and the full-length press of Elijah's body – oh Christ, it's about fucking time – forcing Dom into the mattress. He arches his hips, but he can barely move, weighted down deliciously, just managing the barest friction against Elijah.

Dom hisses when the zipper teeth on Elijah's fly grate over the sensitized skin of his cock, a bright spark of pain. But then there's Elijah's fingers again, and he opens his mouth greedily, taking him in more easily than the first time, sucking until his lips brush Elijah's third knuckle. Stroking his tongue between Elijah's fingers, Dom dares a sharp nip at his joints.

  
Elijah jerks his fingers back in surprise, caught off-guard while his attention was focused on finding what he was looking for in the drawer, and his fingers catch on Dom's teeth, pulling for a second before he slips free and narrows his eyes. "I don't think you wanted to do that, Dom," he remarks calmly, pulling a length of jangling chain free of the drawer. "You might have to work a little to get me to believe you really want this."

His wet fingertips drop to slide in circles over one of Dom's nipples, coating the nub to glistening before moving to the next one, infinitely gentle. "Do you want chains?" he whispers, biting the shell of Dom's ear and rolling the skin between his teeth. His hands stretch the length of thin chain across Dom's bare chest while he ducks his head to blow cold air over wet nipples, drawing them taut. As soon as they've peaked, he rolls the chain up, keeping it out of Dom's line of sight, and then snaps the clamps on without warning.

He grins at Dom's indrawn breath, sits back and stuffs another pillow under Dom's shoulders, arranging him at a more comfortable angle for what Elijah has in mind. "Lube, Dom," he commands softly, shifting forward so that his hips are balanced within Dom's reach. "And don't try to get clever this time." The fingers of one hand slip under the chain that trails between the two nipple clamps, pulling it just enough to create tension, while the other reaches to cradle Dom's head and guide it to his cock.

  
There's a flash of triumph when Dom realizes that Elijah's going to let his transgression slide, that he'll still get what he wants, and then it's gone, obliterated by new sensations. The prickling heat of the clamps, chain taut in Elijah's hand, helps him focus.

But whatever Elijah thinks, Dom's more than capable of focusing now, surrounded by Elijah, feeling his hand sliding through his hair, pulling Dom close. And this is something Dom likes, something he's good at (something he won't mess up). He licks his lips, tucks them carefully over his teeth (perhaps the only lesson he's needed to learn only once), and purses his mouth softly over the head of Elijah's cock. Dom's eyes drift shut for a moment as he tongues the slit, applying a bit of suction now, and tasting Elijah. Fucking perfect.

He opens his eyes again, looking up at Elijah as he curls his tongue around the tip of his cock, silently questioning, asking permission.

  
Elijah almost loses himself in sensation as Dom's hot mouth envelops him, wet and welcoming, but he manages to keep his hips from jerking forward, lets his eyes flutter closed for only a fraction of a second before recovering. He nods in response to Dom's unspoken question, tilts his hips and Dom's head so that Dom can take more of him, and his other hand toys with the chain, jerking it upwards when Dom goes too far or tries to get creative. Normally, he would have all of the encouragement in the world for Dom's mouth on his cock; but he can't reward Dom for misbehaving, and he has other plans for tonight, more than Dom's clever tongue teasing his slit and making him hiss approvingly.

"Just lube it, Dom," he commands, directing with the chain in one hand, rubbing strands of thick, soft hair between his fingertips as he caresses Dom's head with the other. "Get me wet enough to be inside of you." His reaches behind him to trail his fingers over Dom's chest, pause to trace a few particularly memorable welts. "I want to fuck you like this," he murmurs, eyes half-lidded and heavy, fighting the tension in his muscles that urges him to thrust forward, deeper into Dom's throat. "Stretched out and chained. Will you do that for me?"

Elijah's eyes travel over the taut muscles in Dom's arms, his grip around the bedposts. He wonders if he's setting Dom up to fail, testing him like this. Dom has control in many areas, but sheer willpower isn't one of his strengths. He might make it, though, if Elijah keeps reminding him of the rules and possible consequences. "Can you last if I fuck you like this?" Elijah asks idly, challenging and taunting. "Will you not let go?"

  
Dom closes his eyes and tilts his head to take Elijah in as deep as he can, slowly, until he feels Elijah's cock nudge the back of his throat. Until there's no room for breath, nevermind words. Dom can't answer Elijah's question, but as he drags his tongue along the underside of Elijah's shaft, he tightens his grip on the bedposts and his nails (short, yes, but not like Elijah's, and even those can inflict a surprising amount of pain) dig into his palms. If he manages to do this, to be good for Elijah, he'll have marks there, his very own, and they'll be different but he can look at them and be proud.

 _I'll try,_ Dom says without words, mapping them out with his tongue on Elijah's cock. He opens his eyes, his field of vision reduced to a mere few inches of Elijah's skin, firm and smooth, and it's not a reduction at all but the most marvelous expansion. Elijah eclipses everything else, and all Dom wants is right here.

  
Elijah struggles to keep his breathing even as Dom takes him in, washes around him, hot and wet. "Enough," he murmurs after a few minutes of Dom's attentions, the first sound to break the silence beyond his own slightly hard-edged breathing and the sucking sounds as Dom moves over his cock. He sits back, easing Dom's head onto the pillows, and takes a deep breath to regain complete control before they move on. "Let's make this easier on you, yeah?" he suggests, already reaching for the bedside table and pulling a cloth rope line out of the drawer.

The leash is thin and supple, soft enough to bind without leaving marks, and it has a clip on one end that Elijah snaps over the chain on Dom's chest. He gives it a sharp, experimental tug to make sure that the clamps hold, and then smoothes it down the length of Dom's body, holding Dom's eyes as he does, as he wraps the soft rope around Dom's cock and balls; once, twice. "On your knees," he commands, putting enough pressure on the rope to keep it taut as he shifts to one side, giving Dom room to move. "You can let go and reposition, this time."

  
With Elijah gone (not really of course, but he's not _there_ anymore, not where Dom wants him to be, except he will be again soon, if Dom's lucky) it's difficult to focus again, and his fingers slip for an instant before Dom can adjust to the emptiness in his mouth, the taste of Elijah still on his tongue.

But he manages to hold fast, even when he sees the rope in Elijah's hands, one of Dom's favourites (and he wonders if Elijah knows that, if he ever told him, but of course Elijah would know, yeah?) because it looks innocuous and soft, but in Elijah's hands it's anything but. Dom wants to reach out, offer himself, and the instinct is barely quelled. Truth be told, it's the jerk of the chain that stops his movement and his breath for a crucial instant, giving his lagging synapses a chance to catch up. He may not have any self-control, but a sense of self-preservation will do in a pinch, and Dom knows he doesn't want to let go. He knows Elijah, yes, but even now Dom can't fathom what would happen if he broke, after two-three-four warnings.

As it is, Elijah's reprieve comes not a moment too soon. Dom's arms drop to the pillow on either side of his head; there's a rush of heat, the release of muscle tension, burning slower than the tight heat in his groin. He doesn't take more than a breath, though (not the time to relax), before tucking his knees underneath him and rising in a fluid motion, watching Elijah through his lashes, head bowed slightly.

Dom's shirt slithers over his chest, catching briefly on the clamps, and before he can think or ask, his hands are above his head again, behind his neck, tugging the fabric over his head. Only when he sees his shirt hit the floor does Dom question, look to Elijah again for - reassurance? reprimand? - guidance.

  
Elijah smiles without comment, eating Dom up with his eyes, gaze sliding across every inch of smooth, toned skin. The marks displayed so clearly on Dom's body bring up a well of possessiveness and protective instincts, remembering how each one was made, and when, and why. Dom remembers too, he knows; except when he forgets.

He laughs at Dom's doe-eyed hesitation, the careful look from behind silken eyelashes that silently pleads for more direction. He gently turns Dom around, skimming his hands down the marred expanse of Dom's back and then back up to his shoulders, gently applying pressure until Dom yields and bends.

"Not getting out of it that easily, liebchen," Elijah murmurs, leaning in to flicker his tongue out over a dark spot on Dom's back, the result of one of their games over the past week. "Hold on again. Knees and elbows," he clarifies, running a finger down the length of Dom's spine all the way to where it first disappears between the curves of Dom's buttocks. He stretches over Dom, his finger slipping down to just press against Dom's entrance, his tongue flickering out to taste Dom; salt-sweat and nerves. He whispers his words to Dom's skin, enjoying the tiny tremors that answer him in the silence. "I want you open for me."

  
Dom settles, shifting, automatically bracing his forearms on the mattress. Elijah's touch, light as it is, draws shivers out of him; Dom arches his back, relishing the dull twinge of the most recent marks (and the memories, oh). Elijah's tongue, the softest weapon in his arsenal, and even that's enough to snare Dom's concentration, distract him beyond reason or instinct. His breath catches with the press of Elijah's finger, and exhales hard, clinging to Elijah's words - _hold_. Already it's hard to summon the energy, to unclench his fists, stretch and curl his fingers around the bedposts, to grip.

But Dom does it.

His head drops between his shoulders, the cool press of the pillow against his forehead soothing briefly. Dom shifts again – he knows what Elijah wants, knows he has to be able to take it. Knees spread, finding his balance, arching into Elijah's touch. Hands twist more firmly around the bedposts as Dom reminds himself - _hold_ \- but it's not the same in his own head, not half as convincing as Elijah's tone, all fire and ice.

But he holds.

  
Elijah purrs his pleasure, rewarding Dom with a dusting of kisses across his back, and reaches for the lubricant on the bedside table. He watches Dom for the shiver of response when he snaps the lid open, and holds the lip of the tube pressed against the soft pucker between Dom's cheeks, stroking his other hand soothingly over raised buttocks.

"Relax," he commands, velvet-soft, and squeezes the tube as soon as he feels Dom tremble. The gel squirts out and in, smearing over Dom's skin, and Elijah snaps the tube shut with a smile, one that shades into an anticipatory grin as he sits back on his heels to watch Dom, positioned and waiting, perfectly obedient. "So good, baby," he praises, replacing the lubricant on the table. He grasps Dom's hips firmly, forcing Dom to arch just a fraction more, and then drops one hand to his cock, aligning them and starting the slow push inside.

  
Elijah's voice wraps around him, and this time it's easy to listen, to comply, even as the cold shock of lubricant raises goosebumps along the back of Dom's thighs. This Dom can do, loosening himself, envisioning Elijah pushing in an instant before he does. The chill vanishes, giving way to rough heat and the burn of stretching muscle, with just enough lubricant to take the edge off, let Dom _feel_ Elijah.

Dom makes a noise, low in his throat, trapped hard by Elijah's hands, drawing him steadily closer. Dropping his shoulders lower, Dom changes the angle slightly (oh _yes_ ), and there's a sharp tweak on his nipples as the rope draws taut.

And Elijah's still slow, even though Dom knows he can take it; he fights the urge to snarl, _fuck careful, c'mon_ , wanting Elijah - all of him - inside. Now. His hands flex, the edge of the posts digging into his palm, and he presses his face into the pillow, soft cotton stifling another guttural sound.

  
Elijah bites his lip to keep from making a sound, listening instead to Dom's noises, feeling the tiny twitches as they settle together, until Elijah's hips are flush against Dom's backside. No matter how many times they do this, Dom is still tight, perfectly clenched around Elijah's cock. Elijah strokes over what skin he can easily reach, praising and warning at the same time, because this is where it's going to get rough, for both of them.

"Feel that?" he whispers, pushing his hips forward even though there's no further he can go, just to shift Dom slightly and hear the noise that he muffles into the pillow. "Do you love it when I'm inside you?" Elijah draws back a fraction of an inch, and his hands part Dom's cheeks so that he can thrust in that much deeper, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. "Do you love being filled?" He holds his breath, glides out and in another tiny fraction, circles his hips to grind against Dom's walls. He has to play this carefully, or Dom might not forgive him for it. But this could be so good, for both of them...

"Do you ever imagine it's someone else?" he asks, whisper-soft and seductive. "Ever want someone else here, fucking you, while I watch?" He takes a deep breath, gives Dom an inch of out-and-in, teasing and taunting. His tongue licks delicately at a recent crop-stripe, softening the wound so that it re-opens, saliva salting the shallow cut. "Do you ever fantasize about someone else when you're with me?"

  
Christ, finally, and Elijah feels so fucking good, buried inside him. Even Elijah's teasing little movements, grind-press-pull, fail to elicit angry pleas from Dom's lips, only a ragged moan. After so many hours of simply wanting _something_ , here he is with everything now, tightening his thighs, tightening around Elijah. _Yes_. He rounds his back to feel Elijah's chest flush against his skin, wanting contact, ever more.

He gets more than he bargained for, though not more than he should know to expect by now. Dom hisses when Elijah's tongue sparks against his skin, and he remembers. That was a punishment, that one (but for what, that's slipped his mind), and Dom can't help but recall the long minutes of isolation, not a touch from Elijah, not a word, just silence and absence.

But now Elijah's here, close, and he's speaking still. Dom lifts his head to listen, and he hears the words, but he doesn't understand. It seems preposterous, especially here, now. Who else was there besides Elijah? Years ago, there were, even in the early days in New Zealand, but even still, who else mattered? What more could Dom want?

Dom's certain that he's meant to answer. But he doesn't know how, or what Elijah wants. Is this a test? Is he supposed to say no, or risk punishment? Or is this something Elijah wants? The thoughts twist in Dom's mind, and he presses his head against his forearm.

Does Elijah know something he doesn't? Does he want the truth? What _is_ the truth?

Dom blinks a bead of sweat out of his eyes, lifts his head and cranes his neck. He needs to see Elijah, there, that's better. "No," Dom shakes his head. "Le meilleur."

  
Elijah can barely summon the patience to wait for Dom's answer, but somehow he manages it, remaining still and silent while Dom's hesitation speaks for him. When Dom uses that name for him, the one that always makes Elijah want him more than anything else in the world, he almost loses his grip on his control, almost groans and gives in, fucks Dom like nothing else matters but the two of them.

But this _is_ the two of them; and Elijah could be wrong, but he thinks that Dom might want something else. Or some _one_ else, rather, and if Dom keeps repressing it because of Elijah, things could turn out very badly a few weeks or months down the road.

Elijah presses an awkward kiss to Dom's lips, runs one hand across his stomach and chest, twisting a nipple clamp gently as he watches Dom's eyes. "It's not a trick question, Dom," he murmurs, and slips his hand around to massage the muscles in Dom's neck, encouraging him to let go and stop tensing up. "You don't have to hide anything from me."

His hand gently pushes Dom's head down then, so that Dom can't look at him anymore, can't plead with those beautiful eyes for Elijah to just be quiet and let this go. He's still walking the line, but he knows that if he doesn't take charge again soon and show dominance, Dom will probably start panicking.

"Stop thinking," he orders, bracing his hands on Dom's hips again and repositioning him so that Elijah's thrusts don't graze Dom's prostate, starting a slow, steady rhythm that sparks along his nerves. "I can keep this up all night," he murmurs, bending to place a kiss on one of the raised knobs of Dom's spine. "Just let go, Dom. Forget that it's me. Say whatever comes into your head."

  
Threat, promise, demand - now Dom doesn't have a choice, but it's easier even if he doesn't want this. He still doesn't know what Elijah's on about, why he's so serious. For a moment when Elijah looked at Dom there were shadows clouding his cool blue eyes, edging away from calm, and a flash of fear shook Dom, because what if there was something he didn't know, that _Elijah_ didn't know?

Stop thinking. Right. Fuck.

Dom exhales slowly, closing his eyes, and just _feels_...the twitch of the clamps when he breathes, the deceptively soft constriction around his cock and balls keeping him on the edge, even when Elijah's measured thrusts paint bright stars, white-hot, on the inside of Dom's eyelids. His mouth opens on a moan, and the words tumble out unbidden.

"Want you, 'Lij, bitte," and it's true, absolutely; there's no one else that can do this like Elijah. "No one." He knows what Dom wants, knows what he _needs_ , always two steps ahead. What else could Dom desire?

"You're fucking gorgeous," all porcelain and strength, "different."

  
Elijah closes his eyes, lets the words wash over him and adjusts his angle, gives Dom the rough scrape of his cock against Dom's prostate with every long, drawn-out thrust. "Different?" he asks, curious and aroused beyond belief, his breath coming harder with every word Dom speaks. "Different from what?" He checks, pausing in mid-thrust, and then pushes in deep and hard, rocking Dom forward with the force of his hips and pulling the rope tighter, trying to catch Dom off-guard with the combination of pain and pleasure. "Different from _whom?_ "

  
"Everybody," Dom gasps, sensations roiling and twisting through his body – his arse, his groin, his chest, his arms, oh god – and when Elijah grips the rope, squeezes, Dom can't think anymore. It's the first name that comes to mind, each syllable stretching with harsh panted breaths.

"Orlando."

  
 _Orlando._

Elijah swallows a groan, feeling something like relief washing over him at having his suspicions confirmed. If he had been wrong...if Dom hadn't said it... But he did, and now they both know. Elijah suspects that Dom is more shocked by the words than he is, so he bottles the undercurrent of jealousy, shunts it aside for the moment and concentrates on Dom. He lets go of the slow tempo immediately, rewarding Dom for his honesty with the snap of his hips, hard and fast, just short of punishing.

"Tell me," Elijah urges breathlessly, bending over Dom to sink his teeth into resilient flesh, nipping sharply at fading bruises. "Tell me what you want him to do to you. Don't think, just say whatever comes into your head. Do you fantasize about him?" Elijah takes a deep breath, pushes a little bit more, waiting to see if Dom will follow his lead. "He's beautiful. Do you imagine him inside you, fucking you? You sucking his cock? Tell me, Dom. Stop thinking and just tell me."

  
Dom cries out, and he'll do anything now, for Elijah, for relief from the near-blinding pressure building inside, and oh god, Elijah feels so fucking good. The line of Dom's body is wound taut, hands clenched around the bed posts (how'd he forget about those?), spine arching almost painfully (toward Elijah, always), thighs quivering with tension (felt like he'd just sprinted a dozen blocks, Christ).

He's never thought about what he would do to (for) Orlando, never let himself think. But here, now, it's shockingly easy. "Want everything. Want to suck him off, hear him moan. Want his fingers, oh god, want him inside. Want to watch you while he fucks me..." A groan wrenches itself from his throat, overcoming the words, but Dom can picture it now, Orlando and his pretty curls and his fucking luscious mouth, wouldn't that feel good around him? Not like this, never, but good, oh Christ.

Every muscle, every nerve in his body is singing with strain, and Dom doesn't know how he's held on this long, how long it's even been. It's almost too much to get what he wants, to feel Elijah pounding inside him, quick and deep, spangles of pleasure waiting to burst. "Bitte, Elijah," he pleads, "bitte."

  
Elijah gasps, seeing Dom's words painted on the back of his eyelids, imagining Dom bent and open with Orlando's hands on his skin, his lips parted, taking everything Orlando has to give with Elijah right there, watching him...

His thrusts grow erratic, short and arrhythmic, and just as his vision starts to blur, he reaches down and yanks the clamps off with an abrupt jerk, allowing the blood to flow into Dom's nipples, and rubs his thumb over one before sliding his hand down and closing it around Dom's swollen cock. At the same time, he releases the rope, letting go of the tension holding Dom captive, and comes with a sharp, uncontrollable cry and one final thrust.

  
The force of release is almost as powerful as restraint, explosions of pleasure-pain that set fire to Dom's skin, stealing oxygen and threatening to engulf him; Elijah's touch seems to burn as he strokes Dom off, raw sensations eclipsing everything else. And Dom has no desire, no choice, but to give himself over. Shuddering, his voice dry and hoarse, Dom comes over Elijah's hand and nearly collapses. His head drops, knees and elbows splaying, and his fingers loosen, slip away from the bed posts without a thought.

  
It takes a moment for Elijah to catch his breath; but as soon as he does, Dom is in his arms, cradled gently against Elijah's chest while Elijah strokes his hair and sweat-sheened, trembling skin, murmuring assurances into his hair.

"Relax, liebchen," he soothes, pulling Dom with him so that they're both lying on their sides, spooned together. "You did very well, so good..." He rambles for a few seconds, repeating endearments and praises until Dom's breathing has calmed, and there's awareness rather than blind obedience in his eyes. Elijah touches Dom's nipples gently, massaging them into softness to ease the worst of the burn, and untangles the bindings with his free hand, tossing them off of the bed as he eases Dom onto his back and ducks his head, taking one reddened nipple into his mouth and sucking softly.

"Love you," he murmurs, lifting his head to catch Dom's eyes before moving to the other nipple, washing it with his tongue, pouring his awe and concern into his care for Dom's pain. He captures Dom's hands next, kissing the knuckles, and then sits up and reaches for the bottle of massage oil that they keep next to the bed, knowing that Dom's arm muscles must be screaming at him from the strain of holding on so long.

He pours some of the oil into his palms and starts working into one of Dom's biceps, firm but tender, giving Dom room to breathe and come back to himself by not holding his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks quietly, thumbs smoothing the oil onto Dom's shoulder, pressing in to work out the knots.

  
"I didn't know." Dom's limbs feel heavy, impossibly so, and he thinks that if he were drifting like this in the ocean, the south Pacific maybe, he'd sink like a stone; but he's not there, he's with Elijah, and Elijah would never let him drown.

Dom hums contentedly as Elijah's hands soothe his muscles, finding the knots of pressure and easing them away. He's inexpressibly grateful for the care and attention, can never fathom what he does to deserve it. There's a glowing pleasure, knowing that Elijah lets Dom see him like this, tender strength and soft words, and Dom knows that he belongs - to Elijah, yes, and there's nothing more.

It's easier to breathe now, gathering himself together, picking up the little pieces that Elijah's shattered so beautifully. So tempting to let his eyes drift shut...but there's a stronger pull as Dom's gaze rests on Elijah, finding the little furrow of concentration in his brow as he looks down at Dom's arm, the shiver of Elijah's eyelashes, the curve of his lips. Dom smiles softly.

He blinks slowly as he tries to unearth tendrils of thought, like pulling up a tangle of weeds, one stringing along to another endlessly, some buried so deep that they don't even break the surface. But he owes it to Elijah to sort this through - oh god, how cruel could he be to say things like that? But Elijah asked, and Dom could never hide something from Elijah, even when he could hide the same thing from himself.

"Je t'aime. Le meilleur," Dom begins, and his throat is thick. "I - I don't know what Orlando is. Remember back in New Zealand, when he was just a kid...didn't have clue, but he threw himself into it. All bows and arrows and swords that he actually got to use." Dom chuckles. "And now he's changed. Hell, how could he not? But he's still the same, still fearless."

Dom lifts his hand, fingertips tentatively stroking Elijah's arm. "I didn't mean..."

  
"I know," Elijah answers quickly, curving his arm to run the oil-free back of his hand across Dom's jaw, smiling fondly. It hurts a little that Dom wants someone else, but it's also only natural. And the fact that he's been so completely loyal and honest eases the brief twinge of pain. The fact that it's Orlando they're talking about, and not some complete stranger Dom has the hots for, helps as well. "It's all right, I understand."

Elijah shifts to start rubbing Dom's other arm, adding more oil so that the skin glistens, dark and shining. "Would you want that?" he asks carefully, looking into Dom's eyes this time, trying to let him know that they're okay either way, no matter what the answer is. "Be honest, don't just tell me what you think I want to hear."

  
Dom swallows, but he holds Elijah's gaze. "I don't know. I don't, I'm sorry." And what is it, really? A simple matter of spending too much time together, perhaps; Orlando clocking air miles between this shoot and that one and L.A., and of course Dom saw him when he was in town, what else did he have to do? Coffee, shopping, dinner, whatever. But what did that mean?

Maybe nothing, on its own. But. "It was a long time ago." And yeah, when _Rings_ started, he saw Orlando, and he was interested. It seemed, too, that the attraction was mutual. Orlando wasn't the most subtle bloke, even standing next to somebody as oblivious as Dom. It was nothing, went nowhere; they were like puppies on set, rollicking and wreaking havoc.

"That was before you came," Dom murmurs, and his cheeks flush with the memory; he can feel his cock stirring slightly. Doctor Elijah Pavlov, ladies and gentlemen.

He looks up at Elijah, shifting a bit to reach out with his free hand, placing his palm flat on Elijah's chest. Smooth fair skin beneath the pads of Dom's fingertips, and he slides his hand up to curve around Elijah's neck, thumb grazing across his cheek.

Dom's never been very good at separating what he wants from what he needs. But one thing is certain, and it turns his voice low and earnest. "I need you, 'Lij."

  
Elijah sighs, pulls Dom back into his arms and shifts to lie behind him, so that he doesn't have to look into Dom's eyes, to deal with his own conflicted feelings and the sum of Dom's need at the same time. "I know you do," he says, retreating into his own thoughts so that he can figure out what to do now that he's gotten them this far. _But do you need him too?_

Dom and Orlando were always close. Just because he and Dom had the hobbit-bond to build from, because Elijah got there first...was that what changed things? If Elijah hadn't sparked so hard to Dom's mild-mannered aggression and constant challenges, hadn't practically forced him into that first kiss...would Orlando be here now, wrapped around Dom's naked body, pressed against his skin? Would Dom not have the second thoughts in his head about taking another lover, would he be satisfied?

Elijah doesn't usually doubt himself or his abilities. But if Dom needs something more than he can provide, they need to deal with that. He needs to step out, let Orlando...fuck. He doesn't want to give Dom to Orlando. He's not ever certain that he wants to share. But it doesn't really matter what he wants, does it? He needs to do what's best for Dom.

  
Dom settles with Elijah; the curve of his ankle, the back of his knees, the angle of his hips fitting easily. And he wants to drift off like this, like normal, but the tension in Elijah's body transmits to Dom's easily, too. Dom sucks in air, worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His hand finds Elijah's on his belly, fingers easing between Elijah's; Dom squeezes gently, reassuring. It's a strange position to be in, to know that Elijah's having doubts (for that's what they must be, for him to be this quiet, and Dom can't fault him for it, even if it does feel a bit like trying to keep his balance in quicksand), but Dom knows that he has to be strong now.

Dom turns his face toward his pillow, brushing his nose against the inside of Elijah's elbow, and he presses a kiss to the soft skin there. "'Lijah," he breathes, feeling warm air on his lips.

"Nothing would've changed, you know." And Dom is aware of Elijah's greed, relishes it, because it means that he wants Dom, all of him. But Elijah needs to know that he wasn't wrong, that he didn't take anything that Dom didn't choose to give, not now, and not in the early days. Christ, Elijah took his sweet time then...after all that waiting, what doubts could he have?

"Look," Dom tells Elijah's forearm, "I like Orlando, yeah? But it's nothing to what we've got. Nothing. I'm not going anywhere." He pauses for a moment, trying to make sure he can get the words right, the way Elijah does.

"Whatever happens, I'm with you."

  
Dom's voice pulls Elijah out of his thoughts, but he lies still, breathing, until he comes to a conclusion. Not a good one, necessarily, but it's a conclusion. _Whatever happens..._

He nudges Dom's shoulder with his nose, scoots closer so that his cock is pressed against Dom's ass, so Dom can feel him slowly hardening again. His fingers, still slippery with oil, slide over Dom's chest, press-and-drag, marking his territory with the imprint of his fingertips. "What if you had both of us?" he whispers into Dom's ear, taking the lobe softly between his teeth. His hips push forward slightly, testing to see how Dom will react. To see how far both of them are willing to take this, now that the seeds have been planted.

  
"Ohh..." Dom rolls his hips back into Elijah's, feels the sizzle of nerves that have barely settled, only to awaken in an instant. He turns his head, burrowing in the crook of Elijah's elbow, just to feel Elijah's teeth sharpen and tug on his earlobe. Already, it's dizzying, and the moments just before (the quiet uncertainty) are blurring as they find their way back (because this is how it should be).

And both of them. The _three_ of them. "Wouldn't want it any other way." It's inconceivable, utterly, to think of Orlando without Elijah. Dom needs Elijah, so much that it would be frightening if he didn't know that Elijah would always be there. He'll always be Elijah's.

  
That stings a bit, even knowing how Dom intended it, and understanding that Dom isn't necessarily at his most clear-headed right at this moment. But Elijah just rolls Dom's earlobe between his teeth, feels the barely-there tremors of Dom's muscles beneath his hands, and reminds himself that they belong to each other, that Dom is his without question or hesitation. The thought brings blood rushing to his cock, and he releases Dom's ear with a low moan as their bodies fit more snugly together.

He thinks about Orlando and Dom together, and how no part of him wants them alone, or wants to watch Dom yield and submit to someone else. He can't do that. It would tear him apart, and probably Dom as well. Elijah rocks forward, teasing thrusts along the crevice between Dom's cheeks, and considers.

"In Korea," he muses thoughtfully, "Wives used to find surrogates to bear their husbands' children, so that they wouldn't have to." The head of his cock nudges at Dom's entrance, slides forward a slow centimeter at a time, sinking steadily into heat and pressure. "They didn’t want to lose their figures, so they would make a deal with one of these women. There were whole villages of them, mothers and daughters, because wealthy families only wanted to keep the sons."

  
Dom hisses slowly, cool air stinging the back of his teeth as Elijah presses, and he focuses on relaxing, the burn and the stretch of taking Elijah in raw, oh Christ. He leans forward into Elijah's hands, seeking that resistance, the safety of hard edges and firm muscle. It's good, yes, the twisting heat in his cock, body trapped by Elijah's arms, chest, cock, the only borders he really needs. Dom shifts, trying to draw Elijah in, sliding his hand behind him, along Elijah's flank. Not pressing, he wouldn't dare, but it doesn't hurt to ask (or if it does, all the better).

And what was that Elijah said? Korea? _Women_? "Mate," Dom grits out, "what are you on about?"

  
"Hush, Dom," Elijah replies mildly, although his heartbeat has increased now that he's inside Dom - _home_ \- and he can feel Dom's pulse pick up speed as well, the stretch and give of his body around Elijah's cock. "I'm trying to tell a story, here." There's just enough lube left between them for Elijah to move without the friction being painful, so he starts sliding in and out, tilting his hips as he flexes to make the angle good for both of them.

"The Korean wives," he continues, his voice rougher now that he's having to divide his concentration between the history lesson and Dom's blessedly tight ass, "Didn't just give up their men, though. They used to sit outside the door to the bedroom, while the surrogates were with their husbands." One of his hands slips down to grasp Dom's cock, squeezing it briefly and then stroking to match the tempo of his thrusts, burying his face in the back of Dom's neck.

"The wives had to be involved in the conception, see?" Elijah gasps, starting to fracture and holding back, slowing their rhythm until he regains control. "So they would give directions, tell the surrogate and the husband what to do." He stifles another moan, has to hold his breath for a second before it passes and he can speak again. "They controlled _everything._ "

  
It takes Dom longer than it should to follow Elijah's train of thought, to figure out that he actually has a point (of course, because Elijah always does). But fuck, it's hard to think when Elijah's already pushing him to the edge, thumb flicking over the slick head of his cock, not at all like earlier, the agonizing stretch of arousal – not that Dom was complaining, but god, this is too easy, so luscious and perfect.

History, right. Dom pushes back onto Elijah, just a fraction – oh, _there_ \- and a short burst of heat helps clear his mind, not much, but enough.

"You're," _the wife_ , Dom thinks, and it's ludicrous, "in charge, yeah?" Elijah makes a little dig with his hips; Dom gasps, and seconds pass while he tries to pick up the trail again. "I'm the partner," and that's easy enough, "and Orlando is…?" The farmgirl? Even now, in this rather precarious position, Dom has to choke back a burst of laughter at the image. He bites down on his tongue, hard, and the taste of copper in his mouth is enough to distract him. Hopefully enough to satisfy Elijah.

  
"Whatever it is you're thinking, Dom," Elijah warns, "don't say it." He's partially annoyed at Dom for taking this so lightly, but a part of him is amused as well, and relieved, because if they can joke about it, they must be all right. His hips snap forward, hard enough to make them both gasp, and the hand not working Dom's cock uses its leverage to yank Dom closer to him, tight against his body. "I'll take it out of your ass, I swear I will."

He sinks his teeth into the flesh of Dom's shoulder briefly, licking roughly at the salt of Dom's sweat on his skin, and then clicks his teeth together sharply as his orgasm threatens, gradually building to the crest. "And I'm not coordinated enough to fuck you and beat you at the same time," he manages, even though they both know it for a lie, so close now, hanging on just to see how long he can draw this out, knowing that Dom can't come until he gives permission.

  
Dominic tucks his chin to his chest, arching his neck in offering. Elijah's hard and sharp along his whole body and Dom's crackling with every twist of Elijah's fingers, every twist of Elijah inside. He's pinioned. Remember when this was easy, yeah? Too fucking complacent, boyo. He should (does, some of the time) know by now that Elijah doesn't need a thing to wrench these sounds from him, to string him tight and make him beg. And he's doing it now, Christ. Dom's keening, the heat of Elijah's hand and the tightness gathering in his balls threatening to drive him mad. He clenches his jaw, skates a hand across his chest until he can tweak a nipple – flash of pain - just to hold on that little bit longer.

  
Elijah makes an abortive move to slap Dom's hand away, but he knew that he couldn't hold Dom for much longer without involving any real pain, so he lets it go and tumbles into his orgasm, shooting deep inside Dom and finishing him off with a final jerk, a slide of his palm over the head, and the scrape of a barely-existent fingernail inside Dom's slit.

He's tempted to just collapse here and not move, but a stronger part of his will is forcing him to move, to sit up and act before Dom loses his cloudy, post-coital daze. "Stomach," he orders, and snags the twelve-inch cane from the drawer of the bed table, straddling Dom's upturned backside. The cane is heavy enough to sting, but not to leave blood, and he brings it down in a sharp pattern of criss-crossing lines, hard enough to raise thin welts.

Elijah flips Dom over onto his back as soon as the last stripe is laid, throwing the cane onto the table and sliding into Dom's arms, claiming his mouth for a hungry, ferocious kiss. His tongue forces its way past Dom's lips, possessive and demanding, and his hands roam over all of the bare skin he can reach, pulling Dom tight against his chest. Most of the time, he marks Dom because it's what Dom needs; but occasionally, it's what Elijah needs. To remind himself that Dom is here because he wants to be, that he belongs to Elijah, that Elijah can bruise Dom's beautiful skin for no other reason than because he needs to know he still can.

  
The lashes smart Dom's skin, their tempo countering his heartbeat still thundering in his chest. It's Elijah's rhythm, laid over his own, and the blows bring Dom back into focus. He can feel his eyelashes scratching against the pillow, and then the sudden friction of the sheets on his raw skin. But even more, there's the urgent electricity of Elijah's mouth, and it's all too easy to remain pliant, revel in the invasion; Dom tilts his head, opening and inviting, and Elijah swallows the sounds that he makes.

He wonders what Elijah's thinking, worries for a moment that he shouldn't have said anything at all, because whatever else goes on, the answer is Elijah, and Elijah needs to know that, but what else could Dom do? And it will be alright, yeah, because Elijah will take care of it, and Dom should really stop tying himself in knots, that's Elijah's job, and Christ those are teeth. The cut on Dom's tongue flares, and Dom lets himself go, curling his hands around Elijah, sliding over his back, tangling in his hair. There's nothing else.


	2. Chapter 2

Orlando balances the take-away bags carefully in his hands, managing to free his pinky finger to nudge the doorbell. He scuffs his sneaker toes on the mat as the chimes echo inside, but there's few other discernible sounds – no music, no footsteps tromping. Then again, Dom's not there, Orlando reminds himself, a smile playing on his lips. Off with his agent, Elijah said.

Strangely enough, it's not often that Orlando spends much time alone with Elijah. They all get together, yeah, for drinks and pool sometimes, but it seems that Orlando spends more time with Dom whenever he's in the city. Elijah's busy, of course, and Orlando gets that – all too well, with the way his own agent tries to micromanange his time from shoot to shoot; he doesn't know half the time where he's supposed to be, but he knows he's meant to be somewhere.

But Dom, Dom's got all the time in the world it seems, up for anything if Orlando rings from the airport or from a club. _A moment's notice, sorry mate_ , but it doesn't matter, Dom's there.

Dom's got this crazy energy, just an earnestness that leaves Orlando in awe. Unabashedly unreserved, ready to spring in an instant. Not like Elijah, who certainly has his moments, but Orlando's always thought that there's a lot more that Elijah doesn't let on about. He plays around, like the rest of them, but there's something else.

Really, it'll be good to have a chance to chat and relax. The scent of Thai food in Orlando's hands is tantalizing, and he shifts the bags into the crook of his arm as he hears soft noises from inside.

  
Elijah grabs two glasses out of the open cabinet as soon as he hears the doorbell ring, leaving them on the counter as he crosses to open the front door. He grins at Orlando, amused at how like a little boy Orlando can look sometimes, with his hands full of take-away and a hopeful expression on his California-tan face.

"Let me help you," he insists immediately, taking the bags from one of Orlando's hands, giving him a minute to balance the rest before pulling away completely and leading Orlando to the kitchen, where counter space has been cleared for the bags of food.

Elijah pulls out two plates and passes them to Orlando, then opens the refrigerator to locate the pitcher he put in to chill earlier. "Lemon soda," he tells Orlando, pouring some of the pale, sparkling liquid into each waiting glass. "It's a beautiful day, why don't we eat outside? Grab some chopsticks and head out." He investigates the boxes as soon as he's restored the pitcher to its place in the refrigerator, poking around until he finds the dishes that smell most promising. "Phad Thai, curry, _and_ prawns, how you spoil me."

  
"A little bird told me you might like those," Orlando grins. He pulls open the cutlery drawer and digs out two pairs of chopsticks. It's almost as easy to navigate Elijah's kitchen as it is Orlando's own; when you think about it, he probably spends as much time there. Not saying much - he's hardly ever home - but it's a comfort anyway.

Orlando sets the chopsticks on the plates and scoops up the two glasses in his other hand. Looking over his shoulder to check that Elijah can manage the food, Orlando heads toward the patio door, opened wide to let the warm breeze into the house. He should've thought to bring sunglasses, but there was that really nice pair that he misplaced last week, and he just hasn't gotten around to picking up new ones. There's a patio umbrella shading the table, though, so he'll be fine.

Orlando sets two places and sprawls easily in one of the chairs. "C'mon, man," he calls lightly as Elijah emerges from the house. "Let's eat."

  
"You're cranky when you haven't been fed, aren't you?" Elijah chides, grinning at Orlando's impatience. He takes the seat across the table, spreading the boxes of food out so that they can both serve themselves without getting in each other's way, and goes in search of basmati rice. Everything else can wait; rice is the staple that makes the meal.

The lemon soda is cool on his tongue when he takes a drink, fizzing and popping when he holds it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He hides behind the glass for a few moments, studying Orlando in thoughtful silence. Orlando is backlit by sunlight, shining in his own right, for once looking relaxed and open, not shuttering himself behind shades. Elijah doesn't get to see him like this very often, which is a shame...usually if they're together, it's a game of hide-from-the-fans which takes more energy than it's worth. He envies Dom that, suddenly.

"So tell me what's going on in your life," Elijah suggests, breaking out of his contemplation and reaching for the curry, which looks to be mainly potatoes, peas, and carrots. He wants to draw Orlando out, to listen and watch and hopefully come to some sort of peace with this idea that he's hatched. If he's jealous, it will never work; he knows that. He needs to want this as much as Dom does, just possibly in a different way. And he needs to be able to convince Orlando that it's what he wants, too.

  
Orlando's wasted no time loading up his plate, and he swallows his mouthful of curry and rice before answering Elijah.

"No rest for the wicked, man. Things are great, crazy. I wouldn't change it for the world, but sometimes it's a bit overwhelming, yeah?" Elijah gets it, he knows. Orlando admires Elijah, he really does; the guy's been dealing with fame his whole life, and he's just so good. Amazing with people, and he does his own thing, finds his own way with the work that he chooses. And he still seems to keep something for himself, that little bit of sanity that you can't let go. In the midst of all the offers, the amazing opportunities, that just exploded after _Rings_ , Orlando's tried to remember that, to keep his head the way Elijah does.

"I visited Sam a few weeks ago. It's so good to be home, you know? Seems that it's not really a place anymore, more the people that keep you grounded...Sam, you guys. That's home. But she's grand. Missed her like mad." Orlando pauses, for breath and a bite of food. He washes it down with lemon soda and cocks his head slightly at Elijah.

"And what about you? Didn't hardly get to see you at all last night."

  
 _The people that keep you grounded..._ Elijah smiles, toasts the sentiment with his glass. "We've been keeping busy," he says, thinking of the stacks of scripts he and Dom have sorted on the coffee table. "I'm already signing on for projects, and Dom is...well, restless," Elijah admits. "But you already know that, I'm sure." He realizes that he's been talking about the two of them as a couple, rather than just himself, and clears his throat.

"I'm sorry that we didn't get to talk much at the party," he continues apologetically. "There were just a lot of people, and I was...distracted," he confesses with a tiny smile, thinking of Dom's burning eyes following him from across the room. He shakes his head, banishing the memory before it can take him too far. "But I'm glad you could come over. It's been a long time since we actually hung out and talked."

  
Orlando listens carefully, and he's heartened by the way that Elijah automatically includes Dom in his doings. Of the two of them, Dom's always come off as the more effusive, often outrageous. Elijah's not one to hide his feelings for Dom, but Orlando's always found him to be quieter, more in control. Still waters run deep, and all that jazz. Even now, Elijah's checked himself, and that's fine too, but it's good to see him letting things show a bit.

Orlando doesn't doubt the strength of their relationship now, but he's certainly had more than his fair share of questions. The bruises, for one thing. Shit. Orlando never really noticed them until after filming was over, and he wondered whether things had taken a dangerous turn with Elijah, or whether they'd been there all along, the necessities of make-up and costume keeping the marks hidden. It worried him, but whenever he brought it up (which was only two or three times; he stopped asking once he figured out that the answer was always the same) Dom brushed off Orlando's concern with a satisfied smile, though he could never quite explain the marks in a way that made sense to Orlando. If it wasn't injury, then what was it? Play?

Orlando blinks. Here he is, supposed to be talking with Elijah, and what the hell's he doing? He gives a shake of his head and looks up, giving an embarrassed chuckle. "You're right," he apologizes. "And here I am daydreaming in the sunshine. So – what should we talk about?"

  
"That depends," Elijah says softly, twirling one chopstick slowly through his rice, watching Orlando with a mixture of curiosity and consideration. "What are you daydreaming about?"

His instincts are telling him to move, but he holds them in check, waits for Orlando to give him some kind of signal before he proceeds. He wants to spill it out, explain Dom's feelings and Orlando's role and this crazy, wacked-out plan Elijah has concocted, but he can't do it yet. The words are there, but not ready to be spoken. Elijah blinks slowly, leans back in his chair, and studies Orlando through half-lidded eyes. Now that he's considering doing this, it's hard not to notice how beautiful Orlando really is.

  
Orlando flushes hot at the intimation in Elijah's words, at the silk in Elijah's tone, even – oh God, is he imagining things? – at the glint in Elijah's eyes.

There's no way he can tell Elijah what (who) he was thinking about. Because Dom is Elijah's, and that brooks no argument. Orlando can see that, and he knows too that it's not simply that they belong to each other, but that Dom belongs to Elijah. Period. And who's he to interfere? Yeah, he cares about Dom, a little more than he should, perhaps. But it's been so long, and it's not like they have any history. Really, except for that one night, there's nothing to tell. And it was just a snog or two, drunken ones at that, but that was it. And you'd think it wouldn't be a big deal, right, and it's not. Orlando's almost forgotten the way Dom's tongue tastes, the way he opened so easily; how, when Orlando pushed, Dom gave without hesitation.

Orlando opens his mouth to say – something, what? – that it's nothing, but there's only silence stretching between them now, and that look in Elijah's eyes.

  
Elijah studies Orlando for another few moments, until the silence begins to stretch, and then he places his chopsticks decisively on the edge of his plate, abandoning his food in favor of pursuing a different kind of meal. He hadn't meant to do this yet, but now that Orlando is looking at him like that, trapped between hope and fear, the pull is too strong for Elijah to avoid. He needs to control, to guide, and he can't wait for months the way he did with Dom. Whatever else Orlando may be, he isn't Dom, and never will be.

Elijah half-rises from his chair, bracing his hands on the edge of the table, and leans over until he's only inches from Orlando's wide-eyed face. "Thank you for lunch," he murmurs, and presses a soft kiss against Orlando's lips.

  
Orlando's eyes drift shut before he has a chance to think, and there's another moment of soft lips brushing his ever so lightly, and Orlando giving in, before he stiffens and stills. This is Elijah. _Elijah_.

What the hell?

The touch dissipates into warm air, Elijah's breath as he pulls back, and Orlando hasn't moved one way or another, can't really, can't do much except blink slowly as Elijah recedes to his normal position in Orlando's field of vision.

What was that? Fucking out of the blue. Except, perhaps, it wasn't. Rather calm and collected on Elijah's part, really, and no tongue, no messy impatient need. But why? Especially after Orlando's spent the past few minutes mooning over Dom, with the sinking suspicion that Elijah knew exactly what he was thinking.

So really, what has he got? Orlando's got a thing for Dom. Elijah, he's willing to bet, knows Orlando has a thing for Dom. And Elijah just kissed Orlando.

Orlando's tongue darts out to lick his lips, and there's the taste of prawns that he hasn't eaten. His brow furrows.

"What do you want, Elijah?"

  
Elijah picks up his chopsticks, twirls them through the soft noodles and catches a pepper between the tips. Orlando just passed the first test with flying colours, so Elijah does owe him an explanation. Or a part of one, anyway.

"Dom likes you," he says carefully, glancing up to meet Orlando's eyes. "A lot." He pauses, twirling the sticks idly as he watches Orlando's reaction. Here it goes, all or nothing. He hopes that he's laid the framework correctly, because this is one hell of a gamble. "What if I said that I wanted you in our bed?"

  
Orlando arches an eyebrow, but something in Elijah's demeanor (or rather, everything) tells him this isn't a jest or a trick. This Elijah doesn't do that. This Elijah knows what he wants, and even now it seems he's well on his way to getting it. And Orlando doesn't argue. He's not saying yes (though he can't help but picture it, remember the curve of Dom's body even beneath layers of clothing, imagine him laid out for Orlando, and then there's Elijah, wedging his way forcefully into the picture, and really, his power is beautiful) but it's hard not to be straightforward when Elijah's being so matter-of-fact.

"Does Dom know?" As soon as he hears the words, it occurs to Orlando that it might not matter if Dom knows. He doesn't have a full grasp on what goes on between Elijah and Dom, but every second it's becoming clearer, and this might be part of it. Still, the question's out there, and Orlando's entitled to an answer, considering that it Elijah who's approached him for...what? A favour? A fling? God knows.

  
"Dom knows that he wants you," Elijah answers evenly, holding Orlando's gaze. "That's all he needs to know. The rest is up to you and me." He hopes that makes it clear; wonders how much, exactly, Dom has told Orlando about what their relationship is like. It's hard for some people to understand that sort of dynamic, so he needs to make it clear straight off. "If you do this," he says slowly, "It's between you and me. And you and him, of course. But it's the two of us, really. He's a vessel. And you're the medium I use to get to him."

  
Orlando bristles at Elijah's words, the way he seems to brush Dom off - wasn't this whole thing because of Dom? – and Orlando swallows hard. Part of him wants to defend Dom, defend himself, but this time he thinks before he opens his mouth. He has to accept that Elijah cares about Dom a great deal, that much is obvious. Even if he doesn't understand what they do together, or why, Orlando knows that Dom is smart enough to know what he wants and to take care of himself. So first off, maybe Elijah's not as callous as he sounds.

Orlando reaches for his glass and takes a slow sip. He can't even think about food now, but he needs something. The glass is cool and hard-edged in his hand, solid.

If Orlando allows that Elijah is keeping Dom's needs in mind, maybe he can begin to figure this out. His gaze flickers back up to Elijah's and steadies there. "What do you have planned?"

  
Elijah has been debating how to approach this for hours now, ever since he woke up this morning. How do you explain to someone that you want to channel your energy through them, to have them submit and dominate at the same time? It's a delicate position to be in, and if Orlando is at all unsure, the whole thing could fall to pieces. Elijah thinks about what he did with Dom last night, and wonders if Orlando would respond the same way.

"Have you ever been with someone," he begins thoughtfully, "and had them just...give, to you? Just surrender? Had them lie there and let you do whatever you wanted, because they trusted you that much? Had them beg for it, just because you were offering, and they needed you to make them give in?" He reaches out, runs his fingertip along the rim of his glass, collecting condensation. "That's Dom."

  
Yes, that's Dom, and that's what Orlando remembers, the pliancy, the earnestness. He nods silently at Elijah, buying a few moments' time. Back then with Dom, Orlando hadn't realized the possibilities, nowhere near, and he wonders briefly if Elijah knows about him and Dom. Whether or no, he's not going to bring it up. Because he doesn't want to jeopardize this. Listening to Elijah, remembering the feel of Dom, Orlando wants it. He wants to feel Dom giving, he wants to give Dom what he wants. And Elijah seems to have figured out a way to do it.

  
"Now," Elijah continues softly, watching the thoughts flit across Orlando's face, letting his voice drop into the cadence of calm command that he uses with Dom, holding Orlando's eyes as he aims his words carefully. "Have you ever been with someone who just took, who broke you apart into pieces and put you back together again? Who gave you everything that you never knew you wanted, and more besides? Ever been so completely helpless and liberated that you can't do anything but lie there and fucking take it?" Elijah allows a small, predatory smile to creep over his face. "That's me."

He waits for the space of a few seconds for Orlando to get his head around that, to grasp the enormity of what Elijah is offering, and holds onto Orlando with the control of someone born to power and used to wielding it. "Take a drink, Orlando," he commands softly, and waits to see what happens.

  
There's the smooth cool slide of liquid easing down his throat before Orlando realizes what he's done. The glass is still sharp-edged and solid in his hand (like Elijah); goose bumps rise on Orlando's forearms, and the only word that comes to mind is _yes_. How can Elijah do that? It's shocking, because it seems entirely natural, and yet Orlando's never seen Elijah quite like this ever before.

But it makes more sense now, Elijah's calm, the maturity that everyone fusses about. God knows what they'd think if they knew what purpose it serves - Elijah Wood and his kinky sex practices, there you have it. And he's offering to bring Orlando into it, to be with Dom, to be with _him_.

"How? When?"

  
Relief washes over Elijah like a wave, allows him to release the breath he was holding and relax, although he doesn't count the battle won just yet. "Tonight," he says firmly. There's no question in his mind that Dom will be agonizing over this if Elijah tries to reach him tonight, that their relationship will be clogged under the blanket of Orlando-possibilities until they settle it, one way or another. Dom will never expect him to move so quickly. Although he really should, after this long together.

"And I just told you how," he continues, picking up his abandoned chopsticks and poking through the mess of noodles and rice in search of prawns. "You're the conduit. Both at once. I speak..." He shrugs slightly, looking up at Orlando, _through_ Orlando, as far as he can reach. "You act."

  
When Elijah tucks into his food, he's almost normal again. But Orlando can still see the shades of power that he now knows are there, and as much as this is about Dom and how Orlando feels about him, it's become about Elijah, too. Orlando wants to find out what that's like.

He can't recall actually agreeing to any of this, but at this point Orlando can't imagine not taking Elijah up on his offer. Hell, he might not even have a choice, if Elijah's made up his mind, but it doesn't really matter. Orlando will see it through. And tonight – soon, yeah, but blessedly no time for second guesses, no time to let things fester. Orlando wants to see Dom, feel him give, hear Elijah's voice (that control). And if it's what they want – as Elijah's made clear it is – then Orlando's not going to waste an opportunity.


	3. Chapter 3

Elijah backs Dom through the doorway, both of them on the edge of giggles and watching each other with bright eyes, Elijah occasionally pressing in to taste the heady, sweet taste of wine on Dom's lips. Only half a glass each - Elijah would never drink before the two of them actually did something in the bedroom - but it's enough to make Dom's eyes shine and Elijah's tongue dart out for another brief taste at every opportunity. "Undress for me," Elijah suggests, running a hand down the seam of Dom's shirt and smiling. "In the bathroom. Then come back."

Dom's eyes sparkle, full of mischief and questions, but Elijah places a fingertip over his lips and shakes his head. As soon as Dom acquiesces and leaves the bedroom, Elijah strips, tossing his clothes into the laundry hamper and pulling one single garment out of the closet.

The leather trousers are warm against his skin, hugging his hips and molding to fit his body. He leaves his chest bare, crosses to the center of the room filled with anticipation and the first real stirrings of desire. Orlando might be part of tonight, but that's later. Right now, Dom is all his. The leather cuffs are on the bedside table, with the hook to hold them already attached to the vertical bar in the center of the headboard. Everything in place, and this should go off without a hitch. At least, that's what he fervently hopes.

  
Dom doesn't bother fully closing the bathroom door behind him, though he's fairly sure Elijah won't take him up on the invitation. He's got something planned, Dom can tell; all evening, Elijah's had a secret little smile, like a kid with a new toy. Dom loves that look, and he can't wait to get back to Elijah, to find out what's put the spark in his eyes tonight.

He quickly shucks his trousers, tucking his thumbs into his boxers and shedding them. Shirt's over his head and on the floor in an instant, and Dom looks at himself in the mirror. Is this what Elijah sees? His skin's flushed already, the dusky circles of his nipples tightening in the cool air, hair mussed and sticking up defiantly. Dom runs a hand through his hair, rubbing his knuckles against the back of his head. Funnily enough, this is what Elijah likes, and Dom's the luckiest guy in the world.

Especially after last night. After what he said, after an entire day fretting over possible consequences (and even Dom realized what this could mean, if things went bad), it's such a brilliant relief to find Elijah as warm as ever, eyes full of sharp promises and devious plans, keeping Dom on his toes.

Dom grins at his reflection and kicks his discarded clothes behind the door. The hallway's quiet, and as he makes his way back to the bedroom Dom calls softly, "Fe fi fo fum," chuckling at himself, still feeling pleasantly light from the wine. He turns the corner and comes to a halt in the doorway, feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands loose at his sides, and cock stirring eagerly at the sight in front of him.

Elijah. In leather trousers. Fucking gorgeous, man. Dom looks him down and up, and down again, over the smooth muscle and fabric that seems _made_ for Elijah; it couldn't look better on anyone. Dom grins, slowly, and he wants to cross the room, slide his fingers inside the waistband to feel the trapped heat, kiss Elijah and press himself against that tight leather. But he waits, skin tingling with anticipation. Elijah's got a plan, alright.

  
Elijah has to work very hard to keep his expression from changing when Dom walks into the room, blatantly posing and gorgeously nude. Not fully hard yet, but that won't take long. "Come here," Elijah orders, pride and gentle reverence in his voice. "Kneel."

He waits until Dom is on the floor in front of him, gracefully folded into a comfortable position, before curving his palm around Dom's cheek, cradling his upturned face and just taking him in. "So beautiful," he breathes, his touch a shade possessive, mapping out the sculptured angles of Dom's bone structure where his jaw protrudes, his thin collarbone. Elijah's hard within the confining, skintight leather, already aching just at the beauty of Dom kneeling before him, getting off on more than the power; it's the look in Dom's eyes.

"Je t'aime," he says softly. The trust in Dom's eyes kills him, pierces his heart to the core, and he wants to give back whatever Dom needs. Even Orlando, if he can still have this. "Tell me what you want," he tells Dom, his finger tracing a path back to the hollow of Dom's throat, pressing gently. He smiles gently, letting his affection spill freely around the edges of the dominance. "And I'll let you know if you can have it."

  
Dom's pulse quickens under Elijah's touch, throbbing against the press of his fingertips. "Want you," he breathes, and the answer is always simple. He wants to please Elijah, be good for him. And now, when they're just beginning and Elijah's hard and soft all at once, guiding and loving, there's all the possibility in the world, and Dom wholly believes that he can do whatever Elijah asks, and will. That's what he wants.

But it seems Elijah's offering something more tonight, perhaps...inviting Dom to make his preferences known. He takes a moment; swallows just to feel his Adam's apple slide past Elijah's fingers. "Want to be on my back," he ventures. "Want you above me." Dom's eyes drop from Elijah's face to his groin, eye-level, and the hard outline of his cock beneath the trousers. "Want to taste leather," he adds with a small hopeful smile, looking back up to meet Elijah's gaze.

  
Fuck. Elijah's cock gets impossibly harder, and he seriously considers just locking the bedroom door and giving Dom everything in his power to give, until they're both too exhausted to continue.

But what's in his power to give includes Orlando, and he needs to remember that. Even if his body wants to override his brain and just nail Dom to the mattress. "Go lie down on the bed," he murmurs, "And you might get it."

He's only a step behind as Dom stands and crosses to the bed, turning Dom around for a hard kiss, pushing him onto the mattress and climbing after him, unbelievably turned on and hungry for Dom's submission. His tongue stays tangled with Dom's as he reaches for the wide leather cuffs, snaps them onto Dom's wrists and tests the fit by sliding the tip of his thumb between skin and hide.

The chain between them can be attached to the hook Elijah has already set up, one that allows free rotation so that Dom can roll to his stomach or back without getting tangled, and Elijah pulls Dom up to it without breaking contact. He has his tongue in Dom's mouth, one hand on the chain that connects his wrists, and the other around Dom's throat, using the leverage to move Dom back as they kiss, messy and fierce.

He pulls out of the kiss a few heated minutes after Dom is secured, his cock ready to bore through the soft leather of his trousers, and strokes his hands down Dom's body, savoring the feel of bare skin beneath his hands. "Is this what you want?" he asks, his hips straddling Dom's, grinding down in a silent promise. "Or is there more?" He slides up Dom's body slowly, rubbing his thumb heavily over and between Dom's kiss-swollen lips. "I believe you said you wanted to taste leather."

  
Dom nods breathlessly, still reeling from Elijah's onslaught, the smooth slide of leather (a shade cooler than skin, but so fucking hot) over his erection. He opens his mouth, tongues the tip of Elijah's thumb and smiles, humming softly. Elijah's glittering, radiating lust and power, and Dom just wants to take him in - any way, every way. _Yours_.

Dom flexes his hands, tendons tightening against the restraints. He twists his head to see what Elijah's used (too distracted and careless to look while Elijah's tongue was in his mouth, teeth closing over his lip, yeah, and it didn't really matter what Elijah chose because Dom would like it anyway) and it's perfect. Dom grins as his eyes gravitate again to Elijah's.

"Thank you. Is this a reward for last night?"

  
"Why, do you think you deserve a reward?" Elijah asks in amusement, still toying with his fingers in Dom's hot mouth. Dom's tongue suckles his fingertip, and he has to restrain himself yet again from simply locking the door and taking what Dom is so freely offering.

He shakes his head and slides up a bit further, straddling Dom's chest, his free hand dropping to pinch one of Dom's nipples and roll it idly between thumb and forefinger. "What if I had a different reward in mind, liebchen?" he asks, watching Dom's eyes thoughtfully. His groin tightens, watching Dom's lips parted around him, and suddenly he can actually see it, see Orlando's cock in Dom's mouth, see them fucking, all with Elijah in control and watching the entire thing. His voice drops to a whisper, rough with lust. "What if I wanted to see you, tonight?"

  
Oh, that would be good. Elijah wants to watch him jerk off, yeah? Dom's cock hardens at the thought, Elijah's eyes on him while Dom strokes himself off, performing, relishing the attention.

But wait; Dom's brow furrows. It's pretty fucking impossible to wank with your hands bound above your head...yoga keeps him flexible, sure, but Dom doesn't think anyone could manage that feat.

Dom blinks, sees the spark in Elijah's eyes, and he wonders. His tongue presses flat against the pad of Elijah's finger, drags across the ragged edge of his nail. Where's Elijah going with this?

  
Elijah smiles, watching the wheels turn in Dom's head, and slides up the last few inches until Dom's mouth is nearly resting against his erection, trapped behind the leather but still able to feel the warm air of Dom's breath. "Leather, Dom," he points out, and reaches to the beside table for the strip of cloth he had set out that afternoon. "And if I get to watch," he continues softly, pulling the cloth through his fingers teasingly, "You don't."

He pauses in case Dom wants to protest, and then ties the strip of black cloth over Dom's eyes, brushing them closed with gentle fingertips before he covers them with the blindfold. "So good," he murmurs appreciatively. His breath is coming slightly faster, his entire body charged and eager. Keeping his eyes on Dom's face, he leans forward, bracing his hands against the wall, and shifts to press his leather-clad groin against Dom's mouth.

  
Dom can't help but groan as everything goes dark, Elijah the last thing he sees, and then the noise is muffled by Elijah's body, those fucking luscious leather trousers. And Dom's got nothing else but taste right now (wants nothing else), and he brushes his lips over the ridge of Elijah's cock, the touch grazing lightly over smooth leather, before his tongue peeks out from between his teeth. The taste is sharp and a bit sour, but it's still organic; there's incredible heat, too, and the scent of Elijah, strong and heady and musky, sending Dom's pulse trip-hammering through his cock.

He opens his mouth, pressing slow damp kisses along Elijah's shaft, swiping his tongue along the length. Dom tilts his head to wrap his lips around the head of Elijah's cock as best he can, the fabric stretching and barring him from what he wants, from taking Elijah in whole and deep _now_. Dom flicks his tongue across the underside of the head, feeling the seam of the leather, and he sucks softly, feeling the muscles in Elijah's thighs twitch, listening for the sounds of Elijah's breathing, letting them guide his movements, find what pleasures Elijah.

  
Elijah shivers, watching Dom slide over him with lips and tongue, feeling the damp suction and heat transferring through the leather to his cock, breath hitching at irregular intervals from the delicious pressure. He tries not to moan, not wanting to lose that much control, but he gives Dom the gift of his reactions, knowing that Dom can't see him, using his breathing and the tiny stutters of his hips as encouragement and praise.

"Fuck, Dom," he whispers, and then bites his lip, eyes pressed closed as Dom responds by sucking harder, mouthing his cock at a particularly sensitive spot while Elijah groans softly. "If I wanted...something..." The words stumble over each other, coming from low in his throat, disconnected by his gasps for air and control. "What we talked about...would you still want that?" He loses his calm briefly and moans when Dom gets frustrated and lets his teeth slip, feeling the barely-there bite through the soft leather. "Fucking..." he gasps, bites the rest off as pleasure washes over him. "If I gave that to you...would you accept?"

  
Dom stills, his mouth resting on Elijah's cock as the words crystallize in his mind, and this time he has no trouble understanding them, even if Elijah's words are jumbled (as they rarely are, not like Dom's).

Orlando.

That's what this is all about. A shiver of apprehension and remorse ripples through Dom as pleas spring to his lips ( _bitte, want you, le meilleur_ ), but the words are trapped against Elijah's body. And there's something even more primal than the fine-tuned instincts that bind him to Elijah - the memory of Orlando, a mere flash, raw and unexplored, sparking across the canvas of Dom's blindfold.

Dom exhales softly, lightly mouthing Elijah's cock before dropping his head to the pillow. He's grateful now that he can't see Elijah, or rather can't see Elijah watching him. Dom doesn't want to see the flare of jealousy, or the pain, because it's all his fault. He wants Orlando, even though he knows that it will never be like this, never be as good as Elijah. And part of him wishes that Elijah had never dragged this up, reached inside Dom and pulled out this thing that he'd forgotten was ever there, one measly night and Orlando's hands on his chest, his tongue in Dom's mouth, pushing. Fuck.

But that's what Elijah does, he gets inside Dom, and it's why he loves Elijah, craves him like oxygen. This thing – Orlando – is out there now, and they'll have to face it. From the sounds of it, too, Elijah's already thought about it; he's saying he wants it, and if Elijah wants it, then Dom wants it too.

He nods into the darkness, but he can't stop the desperate words spilling from his lips. "Don't go."

  
"Tranquille," Elijah murmurs, ignoring the throbbing of his impatient cock and sliding down to lay next to Dom's body, cradling his face and kissing him softly. "I'm not going anywhere, I'll be right here." He kisses the blindfold where Dom's eyes are hidden, presses tiny kisses over the rest of his face; cheeks, nose, jaw. "Here..."

He sits up and reaches to open the drawer next to the bed with shaking hands, pulling out a box that he'd bought months ago and never felt ready to open. "I got something for you," he confides, taking the lid off of the box and pulling out the smooth strip of leather, stiffer than the material of his trousers, almost a perfect match for the cuffs around Dom's helpless wrists. It whispers across the pillowcase as he pulls it beneath Dom's head, around his pale neck. The buckles slides easily, shiny and new, and the tongue pokes through one of the holes without any fuss.

Elijah tests the give, running a finger between Dom's throat and the collar, just as he did with the cuffs, and slips free when he's satisfied that Dom can breathe freely without completely escaping the pressure around his neck. "Mine," he whispers fiercely, and lowers his head to claim a kiss.

  
Dom opens for Elijah, drawing him in, sucking softly on his tongue; a small whimper escapes as he feels his pulse against the collar (keeping him safe, always, because he's Elijah's). And he knows now that they'll be fine, as long as Elijah's here with him. Not going anywhere.

"Yours," Dom murmurs into Elijah's mouth, trying to give him everything he can, everything Elijah deserves, painting the need and the desire with lips and tongue until it feels like he's drowning in Elijah, and that’s all that he wants.

"Love you." The words, weighted, press against the collar, and without sight Dom can imagine that it's Elijah's hands around his throat, touching him. And in a way, it is.

  
"If at any point you want to stop," Elijah whispers, still brushing his lips softly against Dom's, nuzzling lazily as he tries to make this moment last as long as possible, "tell me. Don't hesitate. All right?" He captures Dom's lips one more time, whispers a reminder, "Butterfly," into Dom's mouth.

"I'll be right back," he promises, and leaves Dom's body reluctantly, taking a step away from the bed and raking a hand through his disheveled hair. Dom looks luscious enough to make his mouth dry with desire, spread out and bound for him - for Orlando - gloriously naked and aroused. He makes himself turn away before he can change his mind, committing himself to this plan of action.

Orlando is in the living room, waiting nervously where Elijah told him to remain. Elijah pauses in the doorway, studying Orlando's profile as he fiddles and twitches, restless. He's beautiful, Dom was right about that. Wild, untamed. He's changed, but the core of him has stayed the same.

"Are you ready for this?" he asks softly, breaking the silence.

  
Orlando's eyes widen as he turns to Elijah; it's a shock to see him like this. His demonstration at lunch, his words, couldn't have prepared Orlando for the sight of Elijah half-naked, wearing leather trousers and obviously aroused, eyes dark and shining. Dom did that, Orlando thinks, and a tendril of heat coils in his belly. Dom could do that for _him_.

Even through Elijah's gentle words, Orlando picks up on the core of power and strength. No messing about here. Orlando's got to choose, and if he's in, then it's Elijah's way, all the way. Elijah made that perfectly clear.

But Orlando's too deep now; he didn't return to Elijah's place just to back down. He's thought about it enough, and now he wants to stop thinking. He wants Dom.

Orlando swallows and nods. "He's okay?"

  
Elijah smiles faintly, relaxing when the first words out of Orlando's mouth are expressing concern for Dom. This might work after all. "He's okay," Elijah assures. He studies Orlando for another moment, watching for hesitation, weakness; and all he finds are strength and certainty. Good enough.

"His safe word is butterfly," Elijah states simply, making sure that Orlando hears and understands. "Mine is coral. If you hear either of those words, you stop whatever it is you're doing and get out. I don't care if you're about to have the best orgasm of your life, you stop everything. You follow my orders exactly, or I'll make sure that you never touch Dom again." He holds Orlando's eyes, tone brooking no argument. This is all of their safety that they're dealing with now, and he won't take any chances. "Are we clear?"

  
Orlando's brow tightens in concentration as he focuses on Elijah's words, all gravity now. He accepts Elijah's commands without question (fuck, the last thing he wants to do is hurt Dom) but they make him stop and think. What is it that he's getting into, really, that requires such caution, such seriousness? Orlando's played around, sure, but he's beginning to realize that this is different, and that even seeing the bruises on Dom's arms, the marks on his neck, Orlando doesn't really know what goes on between him and Elijah. It's a bit daunting, now, knowing that he's about to find out. But even if he doesn't know, Elijah does, and Elijah's in control. He has to trust that.

Orlando looks questioningly at Elijah. "Do I need one of those...safe words?"

  
Elijah smiles, relieved that Orlando is thinking about what he's said and making connections. _Almost there, Dom..._ "Yes, you will. But wait until we get into the bedroom so that Dom can hear it, too." He gives Orlando another thoughtful look. "Anything I should know beforehand? Hard limits, things you don't like?" He allows Orlando a slightly feral grin. "Things you _really_ like?"

  
Orlando's mind is beginning to reel. Safe words, hard limits...he can't even start to answer Elijah's questions because he's never really thought about it. Never needed to actually think about the things he didn't like - he just avoided them. And how is he supposed to detail, spell out in words, what he really likes? To Elijah? Orlando can feel his cheeks colouring at the thought. Besides, Elijah's not going to be touching him. Dom is.

Nevertheless, Orlando tries to think like Elijah, to be analytical about his preferences. But nothing comes to mind that would be imperative for Elijah to know, and he just shakes his head, at a bit of a loss.

Orlando's wound up, apprehension crawling under his skin. He doesn't know how much longer he can stand this waiting, the preparation. It's necessary, yes, but can't they just _act_? He knows he'll be calmer then, when he sees Dom, sees what's lurking behind Elijah's jargon. His fingers drum a short rhythm over his thighs before he looks up from to floor to meet Elijah's eyes and that sharp little smile on his face.

"Can we?"

 

Elijah shrugs, tries to get the predatory gleam out of his eyes and just relax, let this go wherever the mood takes them. Part of him wants to see Orlando flounder, see the shock when he's confronted with everything that he thinks he already understands. It's not a kind thought, but it's an honest one...Orlando isn't what Dom needs.

Although maybe he is, in a different way. In a way that Elijah can't be because he _does_ understand.

"Go ahead," he offers; turns on his heel and returns to the bedroom, letting his center of gravity drop into his hips. He murmurs Dom's name as soon as he re-enters the room, reassuring, and crosses to curl up in the overstuffed chair in the corner. It's where he and Dom often take turns reading, and where Elijah directs from when Dom is in the mood to play exhibitionist. It's where Dom will know he is, and hopefully remember that he's not going anywhere.

  
Orlando watches Elijah as he walks away, practically slinking like a cat on the prowl. This is his territory, no doubt, and Orlando's an intruder, regardless of the fact that he's been invited to join them. Do what Elijah says, and be good to Dom. It'll be okay, yeah? He can handle it.

Orlando takes a deep breath, tries to relax before he follows Elijah's footsteps – and that's exactly what he's doing, isn't it? But still, it'll be him and Dom. He knows Dom, and Dom knows him.

Or at least that's what Orlando thinks until he turns the corner. There's Elijah, sitting as casually as you'd please in an armchair (except that he's dressed in leather, and that's strange enough). But there's Dom, too, on the bed...bound, blindfolded and _collared_. And naked and hard and fucking gorgeous. Shit.

Orlando's frozen, desire and confusion pounding in his chest. Nothing Elijah said could have prepared him for this. What is he supposed to do here? His eyes flicker helplessly from Dom (the stretch of his arms, the shadow of leather, the proud line of his cock) to Elijah, looking for guidance. Please.

  
"Safeword, Orlando," Elijah reminds their guest, who is hovering in the doorway looking lost and completely out of his depth. Elijah expected as much, but hopefully they can pull through this together without any major problems.

Orlando flushes, shifts from one leg to the other. "Ehm. Flamingo?" he offers hesitantly, and the blush deepens as he tries to casually shrug it off.

Elijah nods, hiding his amusement, and nods in the direction of the bed, holding Orlando's eyes. "Go say hello," he suggests mildly. "Kiss him."

Orlando takes a deep breath, bringing a tiny smile to Elijah's lips, and crosses to sit carefully on the bed beside Dom. Elijah can see the tension in Dom's body, the beautiful strain in his arms and shoulders. "Relax, Dom," he chides gently, watching the awkwardness of their hesitation as Orlando reaches out and stops, as Dom tugs against the wrist cuffs and tilts his chin. They're charged together, but not channeling the energy yet. Both so lost, and so beautiful.

  
Dom could tell there was someone else there as soon as Elijah sat down. The energy shifted, something quick and vibrating in the air, and Dom knew. Orlando. And even the briefest flicker of panic beating against his rib cage was quelled because Elijah was there, painted on the inside of the blindfold, sitting in their favourite chair.

And it's only now, with Elijah's knowledge, his permission, his _control_ , that Dom has the freedom to accept this gift, to shift toward the dip in the mattress and arch his neck, waiting to go back to that night, to take it further than he ever imagined it would go, to have Orlando.

And before Dom can think any further, there's warm breath on his cheek, then the soft graze of lips on his, and he pushes forward, pressing his mouth against Orlando's, licking at the seam of his lips, trying to coax a response. When Orlando hesitates, Dom closes his teeth over Orlando's bottom lip, tugging once, and that seems to work; Orlando opens his mouth, snakes his tongue into Dom's mouth, and then there are hands cradling Dom's head and he moans, drawing Orlando closer with tongue and teeth.

  
Elijah shifts, drawn by the sight of them together, dark and dirty-light. He can tell that Dom is the one pushing, and that's okay; but Orlando is going to have to realize what his role entails now rather than later. "Orlando," he interrupts amusedly, waiting until they break reluctantly apart before continuing. "Check the first shelf of the bedside table and pick something that appeals to you." He smiles a little as he says it, knows that Dom will understand what that means, even if Orlando doesn't yet. "Dom, love," he continues, gentle but firm, "on your knees."

  
Dom grins, even as Orlando pulls away and the mattress shifts. There's the soft, nearly imperceptible noise of Orlando's hands skittering over the wood paneling of the table, and Dom's cock twitches eagerly in response.

Dom starts to move, tucking his feet up and curling his hands around the links of chain. It's a bit of a balancing act, but he's in the mood for showing off, and in a moment he's over and up on his knees – look, no hands! – and he's waiting quietly. To hear Elijah's voice again, to feel Orlando again. Find out what he's chosen. Dom's curious, he really is. With Elijah, it's a given to expect the unexpected, but he also knows Dom inside out. Orlando is a new variable, and he could change things considerably.

Dom lets his arms hang loose in front of him; better take a reprieve when he can get it. He listens for any sounds that Orlando makes, idly guessing what he'll pick up.

  
Elijah watches Orlando, sees him check slightly at the sight of the crops and floggers, neatly laid out in a row for his inspection. Orlando's hand hovers uncertainly before finally coming to rest on a light leather crop, and Elijah winces in sympathy. Orlando is trying to get away with the least possible damage, but in doing so, he's picked one of the fastest, sharpest-biting tools that they own. Well, at least it will ease some of the cockiness out of Dom's attitude, the proud lines of his body.

"Praise him for obeying," Elijah murmurs, watching them carefully to see how sure Orlando's touch is. "And bend him over, as far as you want him. The more hollowed he is, the harder the position is to hold. Guide, don't push. He'll respond to your touch." Dom is responding beautifully, in fact, graceful and assured, and Elijah is warm with pride. They've done this together, shaped Dom into a work of art. Elijah rarely sees him like this, picking up on the hints of pressure and arching effortlessly, flowing from one position into the next. He couldn't be more perfect.

"Now mark him," Elijah orders calmly, keeping his voice level and soothing. "Make him yours. Buttocks only, stay clear of the spine and genitals. You can hurt him if you go astray from your target." He watches Orlando kneel behind Dom, shifting uncomfortably but also obviously aroused. "Layer the lashes, don't put them all in the same place," he recommends, drinking in the taut lines of Dom's body and the tension in his leg and stomach muscles. "Own him."

  
Dom holds himself absolutely still; Elijah's watching him, and Elijah's words are sparking in his veins, licking fire through his body. It's moments like this when Dom feels he can do anything, absolutely anything in the world, if only Elijah's there to give the word.

Dom inhales deeply, and there's movement behind him, shuffle of denim over the bedsheets and a moment of weighted anticipation...a second passes, and then two, three, and Dom twitches just as the air hisses and a bright line of pain splits his skin. A breath, and then another lash, and Dom squeezes his eyes shut beneath his blindfold. The blows are sloppy, not razor sharp, the timing just a shade off, each mark seeming to cry _not-Elijah_. But Dom holds fast; he needs to help Orlando, be good for him. He ducks his head low between his shoulders, and the edge of his collar digs reassuringly into the soft skin under his jaw. He can do this.

  
"Stop," Elijah orders, when six lashes have cut Dom's skin and Orlando is looking paler and more determined with every second. "Did you break the skin?" Orlando shakes his head, visibly shaken but still trying to obey and listen. Elijah clamps down on the urge to interfere, to go over there and show him how it's done. This is about them; now. Orlando and Dom.

"Good," he says, breathing a silent sigh of relief. "Never break the skin. You don't have Dom's permission to draw blood." Dom doesn't say anything in response, still obedient, but his breathing is slightly harder than it was before. Not from arousal, but pain. Elijah swears at himself inwardly. Balancing Dom's and Orlando's needs at once might be impossible to do without one of them getting hurt. He needs to be careful, to trust...to have a lot more faith that this is going to work.

Elijah closes his eyes; when he opens them, Orlando is looking at him, the crop still trembling slightly in his hand. "Reward him," Elijah prompts, the words as much for Dom as they are for Orlando. "Kiss the marks. And when he's calm, let him help undress you. Teeth only, Dom," he reminds them both, seeing Orlando glance at Dom's restraints nervously. "Orlando, work with him. See what he can do, and what he can't. And touch him, so that he knows you're pleased."

  
Dom shudders with relief as Orlando's hand slides over his hip, across his stomach, lean fingers surprisingly strong and reassuring. And then Orlando's mouth is pressing against Dom's skin, leaving a sparkle of sensation when his lips brush the tender marks. A thumb traces one of the lashes (the first, Dom remembers), light touch trailing into firmer pressure, until Dom can feel the muted heat radiate between them. This is good, yeah, Orlando's good, painting Dom's skin with his tongue, hands stroking easy graceful paths over his hips, his stomach, his chest.

Dom's heartbeat settles from its rabbity rhythm, and he sighs when Orlando licks along his spine, pressing kisses as pulls Dom closer with his hand, easing him up, and it's all too easy to go with Orlando now. Orlando's mouth on his shoulder, a quick flash of teeth, and Dom's cock jumps. Orlando's palm on his cheek, and Dom shifts to kiss it, dipping lower over his wrist as Elijah's words reverberate in his head. Dom clings to them, wrapping them around himself to keep him safe, even as he tugs at Orlando's shirt cuff, working the tiny buttons through the holes with his teeth. Success, and Orlando's fingertips stroking his temple.

There's a shift, and Dom stiffens for a moment, blindly trying to keep his balance as Orlando moves, but there’s the pressure of Orlando's hand on his back, grounding him. Gratitude flushes Dom’s cheeks, chased shortly by surprise as he finds his arms resting on Orlando's shoulders, their chests nearly touching. Dom stills, and there’s nothing but the scent of Orlando, the weight of Orlando’s hands on his neck, and Dom lets go; falls.

He’s safe, with Orlando guiding him, with Elijah watching over him. Dom drops his head, mouths Orlando’s collar bone. A low sound vibrates against his lips; it’s new to Dom’s ears, and he smiles against Orlando’s skin. Lower, too, to work on Orlando’s shirt, button after button, dropping to his knees, lips brushing over slivers of skin.

  
They're beautiful together. There's a pang at that thought, but it doesn't hurt too much...Elijah is too caught up in exploring their possibilities, in seeing what they are together; what they can be. Maybe he judged Orlando too quickly when he thought they would fail.

He doesn't speak while they work together to bare Orlando's tan skin, acquainting themselves with the touch and taste of each other's skin. Only once does he interrupt, when Dom pauses as his teeth undo the last of the buttons on Orlando's shirt, and his chin bumps the waistband of Orlando's trousers. "Take your time," he murmurs, and smiles with only a trace of sadness in it at the look in Orlando's eyes as he strokes Dom's cheek, as Dom moves without thought into the touch. "Learn his skin." He's speaking to both of them, but mostly to Dom. This is Dom's gift, after all; it's what he wanted. He deserves to have everything.

  
Elijah’s affirmation registers quietly in the back of Dom’s mind, but more immediate is the salt of Orlando’s skin on Dom’s tongue, the line of his hipbone, sharper and longer than Elijah’s. Orlando’s responses are different, too, freer; a moan snares Dom’s attention when he ghosts his lips over ribs, and the quick intake of breath as Dom circles the tip of his tongue into Orlando’s belly button, the clench of Orlando’s fingers in his hair. Dom wants all those touches, those pleased sounds, and he’s floating, losing himself in touch and taste.

Orlando’s hands, a shift of pressure, bring Dom back; his nose nudges the fabric of Orlando’s trousers, his mouth hovering over heat and the echo of Orlando’s heartbeat, quick and eager. And Dom remembers what he’s to do, remembers Elijah’s words, and it should be an easy thing to reach out, just another button, a zipper; yet Dom can only rest his forehead on Orlando’s stomach, his cheek sliding over Orlando’s erection. _’Lijah_. He wants to obey, so much, but why does obedience feel like he’s violating something else?

  
Elijah almost feels like ending it outright when Dom hesitates again, and Orlando looks up at him, confused and uncertain. There are two ways he can go with this, and he doesn't know which one to choose. Either he gives Dom the dominance that Orlando's not, or he gives Dom the freedom of choice and lets him run. Either way, it's uncertain at best. But at least if Dom is under orders, he can't strangle himself in his own guilt.

"Trousers too, Dom," Elijah prompts soothingly, muscles tense from holding himself in his chair and not crossing to the bed, to them; to Dom. He wants to give them something else to focus on, but he can't rescind an order, not without making things worse. As soon as Dom finishes undressing, he can let them stop thinking for a while.

He watches Dom for another second before giving another order to see whether or not Dom balks. If they're having this much trouble, this early...maybe it would be best to give up before things get too involved.

  
Dom lifts his head; Elijah's words secure him as much as the cuffs around his wrists or the collar around his neck, and he's lucky enough to get a reminder rather than a reprimand. Dom's not usually like this, not with simple tasks like this. He doesn't know what's going on (except he does), but Elijah's given him direction, and that's that. He's got permission, and that should be enough.

Dom pushes his head up into Orlando's hands, feels long fingers brushing through his hair, stroking his scalp, and Dom rumbles low in his throat. He kisses Orlando's stomach just above his trousers, and then there's the dull click of plastic against Dom's teeth as he mouths the button, easing it through its hole. Orlando makes a little encouraging sound, another stroke of his hands, and Dom grips the zipper and tugs gently, a thick whiff of sex and musk in his nostrils. He pulls back a fraction of an inch, just enough to grasp Orlando's waistband between his teeth and pull. He looks up at Orlando (even though he can't see him), silently asking for help. And Orlando's hand is on his cheek, thumb easing the fabric from Dom's mouth, tracing his lips; Dom kisses his thumb as Orlando draws him up, Dom's arms brushing Orlando's bare skin, warm and smooth. Orlando's hand slips down to rest on Dom's chest, and Dom inhales deeply, letting himself relax. There's the rustle of clothing, Orlando using one hand to take care of the tasks that Dom couldn't. His fingers play lightly over Dom's skin, distracting him and teasing as Dom waits quietly.

  
"Beautiful," Elijah murmurs, holding onto control of his voice so that Dom and Orlando won't hear it shaking. Because they are; and they're his, which makes this all the more devastating and humbling. He raises his voice slightly to catch Dom's attention, putting a little more force behind the words, but still teasing. "I think you have something to lube, Dom," he suggests, and watches Orlando's eyes glaze slightly. "Don't go too fast or too far, just get him ready for you. Orlando, the actual lube is on the table beside the bed. When Dom gets finished, you're going to need it."

It's going to hurt, he knows that, but there's almost something fragile and amazing about the way that Dom pulls his head away and takes a deep breath, the hard muscles of Orlando's stomach tensing at the whisper of Dom's breath. They really are aesthetically pleasing. He can just enjoy that for what it is, and be proud of how incredible Dom really is. Elijah's lucky, and he knows it. They both do. And he just needs to keep reminding himself that this is what they all want.

  
This is what Dom asked for (was it only last night?), what's been lying dormant since New Zealand, perhaps, when it was just Orlando's tongue in Dom's mouth, and now it's something else, Dom's tongue curling under Orlando's cock, dragging along the shaft, flicking beneath the head. It's not what Dom imagined; not then, when he didn't expect to remember a thing the next morning, and even now, it's different from (Elijah) everything he knows. Slightly more length, a little less heft, and Dom's balance is off. He takes his time, exploring with lips and tongue, taking Orlando in, adjusting.

Dom remembers Orlando in New Zealand, when it seemed like there was no way a kid like him could do the job he had to do. Except with Orlando, somehow, he just made you believe he could. And he did, brushing it off with zeal and a smile so bright that you just let everything else slide.

Now Orlando's got more experience than a lot of people, and the feats don't seem as amazing, because he's a professional now and that's what he's supposed to do. But he's still as enthusiastic as ever, and Dom's thankful that he hasn't lost that, even if there are times when Orlando's distant, seeming to reflect the things and people around him rather than himself. But he's not distant now, not at all, his breaths and moans echoing in Dom's ears as Dom takes him in a little more, draws back with slow friction and flicks his tongue against Orlando's slit.

  
Elijah breathes and watches, amazed as always by the slide of Dom's throat, the expert way he curls and coaxes. Orlando is responsive and appreciative, his moans giving more credit to Dom's talent than even the jealous twitch of Elijah's cock, still restrained in his trousers. Elijah waits until Orlando has had more than a taste of Dom's skill before calling them to a halt. If Orlando comes too soon, Dom won't get all of what he asked for. _Everything,_ Dom had said. _Want to suck him off, want his fingers, want him inside..._

"Enough," Elijah intercedes, when Orlando's breathing has started to turn from pants to desperate gasps. "On your back, Dom. Orlando, the lube. One finger only, just warm him up and relax him." Elijah isn't at all pleased to see that Dom's ardor is flagging...he's either caught up in his head, the way he sometimes gets when he's trying too hard to please, or he's feeling guilty and unhappy. Or, most likely, the two of them just aren't doing a good enough job of forcing him to submit without fear. Orlando isn't anywhere near as controlled as Dom is used to with Elijah, and that must be making Dom nervous.

Orlando fumbles with the bottle and Elijah tries to talk them both through it, to reassure Dom with the sound of his voice. "Just make sure it's coated, and push in. Give him time to adjust, and then start moving. Don't press forward too much, not yet. Take it nice and slow. Breathe, Dom," he adds off-handedly, as Orlando settles between Dom's legs. "Just relax."

  
Orlando's out of range now; Dom's alone. He can't see what's happening, but he knows, and Elijah said relax, but he can't. The quick pivot of the chain has started him spinning, and he can't stop, it's too much. This isn't what he wanted; what he wanted is long gone, or never existed, a figment of his imagination. He loves Orlando, yeah, but not like this. Please. _'Lijah_. Dom can't tell if he says the name or if it's just in his head, but he's sorry. _Can't do this, 'Lijah._

There's a shift on the mattress, and Dom's breath hitches; he can't move. No, no, no.

"Butterfly."

  
There's a split second of shock, and then Elijah's in motion, out of the chair and across the room before he can take another breath. Orlando is frozen, uncertain, and Elijah snaps at him without any thought in his head but Dom's safety. Something went wrong, something happened, he didn't stop it, how could he not see...

"Out, Orlando," he orders, voice like a whip-lash. "Get out, now." Dom is trembling and still, waiting. It only takes another second to unhook the chain from the bedpost, to get rid of the snap-release cuffs, to rip the blindfold away and pull Dom into his arms. Nothing has ever rattled Dom badly enough for him to safeword before...but then, Elijah can usually stop whatever they're doing before something seriously goes wrong. He failed, this time. He failed all of them.

"Talk to me, Dom," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Dom's temple and rocking him gently, trying to soothe without knowing what's wrong or how to change it. "Tell me what's going on."

  
Dom's shivering, but there are Elijah's arms wrapped him, _here_ , Elijah's voice in his ear, _now_. He doesn't open his eyes, even though the blindfold's off, everything's off except the collar, because that's Elijah, that's keeping him safe. Dom presses his face into Elijah's neck. _Sorry, sorry, sorry_. His hands - tingling, a little stiff – scrabble around Elijah's back, seeking contact.

"I - not what it was supposed to be. Not you." The sting of tears and guilt stops Dom. There's more to it, or at least there was - Elijah doesn't know, not about the kiss - and now it's Dom's fault; this never should have happened, because it's not true. He should've stopped Elijah, if only he'd known...

Dom tries to explain, his words muffled against Elijah's skin. "Years ago. We kissed. Before you." It was different then, and he'd never imagined that he would have this (be this) one day, with Elijah. Orlando might have been enough back then, for a little while. But then Elijah came, and Dom changed, and Elijah changed Dom, and Orlando changed, and nothing was the same. Dom didn't want Orlando, not really, but he didn't know.

"M'sorry."

  
Elijah blinks, tries to pick out what's really upsetting Dom, behind the disjointed strings of words and tense body language. "Is that why you stopped this? Because you wanted me to know that you kissed him? Before we were even together? Dom..." He's at a loss, trapped for the moment in confusion and not able to pull his usual trick of getting into Dom's head, because Dom has made it quite clear that he wants everyone out of it for the moment.

"I don't care, Dom. This was for you; this, now. That doesn't matter to me." It's not entirely true, because something twinges unpleasantly at the thought of Dom and Orlando together and innocent, back before Elijah had stepped in and made his claim. But it's more honest than he expected it to be. That was then, this is now; he needs to help Dom understand that. Unless there's another issue here, one that he's still missing.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Elijah insists, and presses another kiss to Dominic's hair, and another. "What's really the matter? Did you really stop because of one kiss? Or did you never want this at all, and just said that to make me happy?"

He doesn't really believe that, because he wouldn't have gone after Dom if he hadn't already expected; Dom's answer was merely the confirmation. But that could have just been his slant on things, and Dom was awfully good at reading him...he had to be, with what they were to each other. But he had pushed, and pushed, and kept pushing, until Dom had finally given in. Had he been wrong, then? Was this something Dom had never wanted in the first place?

  
No, Elijah's got it wrong, and Dom wishes that he could talk like Elijah and explain things so that they make sense, even if they're only beginning to in his head. He takes a breath, sweeps his hands over Elijah's back, and he tries to put the words together. "No. No, Elijah. I thought I wanted Orlando," Dom starts. Elijah's instincts were right; he knows Dom inside and out, better than Dom knows himself, but that was the problem. "But it's not this Orlando." Dom steels himself, slowly pulls back until he can see Elijah (and that hurts, oh, he never wanted Elijah to look like this). But he has to explain, make it better. Dom presses a kiss, hard and fast, to Elijah's mouth. Whispers fiercely, "Le meilleur."

And he can do this. Orlando - "New Zealand was magic, yeah? Crazy. And after that kiss, nothing happened, but in my head...it became something else. More fantasy than anything. Not Orlando, really."

How to put this? "I didn't know, not until tonight. Some things were left in New Zealand. Orlando. But I got what I wanted." Dom looks up at Elijah, and now that the words are out, he hesitates. Hopes with everything he has that Elijah understands. Are they the right words? Will they work?

  
Elijah sighs, his palms skimming lightly over Dom's sides, soothing with contact. "Do you want me to send him home, then?" he asks quietly, holding Dom's gaze and putting total sincerity into the words. "He hasn't gone far, with his clothes on our bedroom floor." Elijah leans in to kiss Dom's forehead, tasting salt on his skin. Arousal, or genuine fear? How did things get out of control so fast?

"Je t'aime," he murmurs, sliding a finger beneath Dom's chin, tilting his head back. The leather of the collar is dark against Dom's skin, binding them both. "I won't do anything that might make you unhappy. But if you still wanted...he cares about you too, liebchen. We can either let your fantasy go, knowing that it was a thing of the past..." He presses a gentle kiss to Dom's half-parted lips, his tongue licking at Dom's mouth. "Or we create a new one."

They can't leave it like this. He knows that, knows that if Orlando walks out now, all three of them will be hurt and damaged by this, and the memory of it will shadow everything that they do from here on. But he won't risk Dom. Elijah tilts Dom's head back ever further, breathes his words to the skin below Dom's jaw. "It's your choice."

  
Dom shivers, his eyes falling shut, and it's so easy to give himself over to Elijah. There's an unshakeable trust between them, even now (because it wasn't Elijah's fault, and Dom didn't know better, and Orlando couldn't have known...it just happened), and that gives Dom strength. He thinks, suddenly, of Orlando still in the house, maybe as freaked out as he was, shit. And why did Orlando agree to this in the first place? Dom hadn't had a chance to consider that. What were Orlando's feelings about this, about _them_ (about him)? Oh god.

Dom swallows; feels the press of the collar. He's Elijah's, and nothing can change that. But he loves Orlando, too - not the way that Elijah thought, but maybe enough to fix this. To be good for him. Dom's grip tightens around Elijah, _want you here_ , and he nods slowly. "Take care of us."

  
It's not much, but it's enough of a confirmation to let Elijah breathe again, nuzzling Dom's skin where it disappears beneath the collar and nipping sharply at his collarbone. The first step is to get Dom back to being relaxed and aroused, and then he can go start working on Orlando. Who is the bigger challenge by far. At least with Dom, Elijah knows where all of the buttons are.

"Always," Elijah promises, bathing Dom's collarbone with his tongue, dropping to suck hard and brief on a nipple until it peaks, dragging it taut with the tips of his front teeth until Dom gasps. "But you have to be sure, Dom," he murmurs, switching to lap at the other nipple, sucking gently on this one and nuzzling the soft skin of the aureole. One of his hands drifts, brush-traces the length of Dom's softened cock. "Tell me what you want."

  
"Want you." _Want you here_. Dom's losing himself in the contrast between sharp bite and slow torture, cool air setting his damp skin tingling. One hand curves over Elijah's head, the soft tufts of hair, and the other slips over Elijah's back, soft too and smooth, the shift of muscle beneath his shoulders hinting at the strength the Dom loves, that he so desperately needs right now.

"Want to stop thinking." That's what always gets him in trouble, isn't it? But Dom can't help it, doesn't know how to quit, to let things go. Elijah can do it, though; he knows how to silence Dom's mind, clear it of everything except that one moment of pleasure-pain, make it vivid and tangible and ceaseless. Elijah can turn Dom inside out, and Dom wants that. He says as much, or tries, though it's hard to talk when Elijah's hand is moving lightly over his cock, and he'd far rather spend his energy worming his way closer, yeah. Lying down, isn't that what beds are for, come lie with me, 'Lijah, please, and don't stop. Elijah's teasing him, gathering Dom's nerves like strings, holding them in his fist and plucking them as he chooses, drawing soft sounds from Dom's throat.

  
Elijah almost groans at Dom's surrender, so sweet...and couldn't they just leave it like this...? No. Dom wants to stop thinking, which means that he wants to sub, and even if it might not be the wisest choice for them right now, it's what Dom needs. "Stay with me this time," Elijah reminds him, mouthing his way down to Dom's navel, blowing gently into the pucker. "If you want to stop, just say the word."

He can't take a chance on restraining Dom now, and he doesn't want to. Dom needs to touch, and Elijah wants him to be comfortable; more than that, he wants the rough slide of Dom's palms on his skin and the momentary curve of his fingers into Elijah's flesh when he tenses. "You remember what we've been working on?" Elijah asks idly, dipping lower, nuzzling his way through wiry curls. "Willpower?"

He glances up once, mischievously, and then scrapes his cheek across the side of Dom's slowly hardening cock. "Don't you dare come, Dom," he murmurs. "Not until we say." The best way to keep them both on their toes is to have someone else there, right? And there are plans forming in his head even as he presses a kiss to the base of Dom's cock, touches Dom's balls with the tip of his tongue. Elijah raises his voice just a fraction, just enough for it to carry to the living room, where he's sure the third member of their little get-together is sitting, dwelling in misery. "Orlando..."


	4. Chapter 4

Dom arches his hips - _more_ \- even though he knows that he's defeating the point and he knows that Elijah will only lift his head, because he also knows that he _wants_ , and that seems to override everything else that he's learned. But Dom actually settles, opens his eyes, when he hears Orlando's name. Not like before; now there's anticipation coiling in his belly, because Elijah's breath is still warm on his skin and there's no surprises this time (for now, anyway) and he remembers the salt of Orlando's skin.

There's a stretch of moments (too long) before the door opens and Orlando's head emerges, all dark lush curls and golden skin and darting eyes, zeroing in on Elijah. And Elijah must've done something encouraging (though Dom can't look, because if he looks at Elijah then he's going to break apart, and he can't even take his eyes off Orlando) because Orlando's coming into the room and...

It's the first time Dom's seen Orlando tonight, the first time Dom's seen him like _this_ , long and lean and nude, beautiful even as he practically slinks into the room, tail between his legs (except no, there's something better). And the distress written on his features makes Dom twist with guilt, but more than that, Dom wants to make it better.

"Are you alright?"

The words are in Dom's head at the same moment they're out of Orlando's mouth, and Dom can only let his breath out and smile, lift his hand from Elijah's head to draw Orlando in.

  
Elijah smiles, relieved and hopeful, as Orlando crosses to them, settles onto the bed beside Dom. Orlando throws a quick, questioning look at him, and then when Elijah doesn't protest or command, he leans in to give Dom a thorough kiss.

There's defiance in his eyes when he straightens from it, a bit, more of a step out of line than an actual questioning of Elijah's authority, and Elijah simply lets his smile become something more wicked, extends his own hand. "Come here," he murmurs, order laced with suggestion. "I haven't tasted you yet." His hand brushes Dom's thigh even as he reaches for Orlando, warning lightly, "No touching, Dom," and then he wraps his arms around Orlando and draws him down into a kiss.

Orlando tastes like honey, like something strong and sweet, almost overpowering, and Elijah follows that thought, half-wondering what Dom will make of it even as he yields. He lets Orlando dominate the kiss and inch him back, fraction by fraction, until he's arched and pliant, purring into Orlando's mouth and playing a slippery game of tag with their tongues. He's never tested this theory before now, but he suspects that the more he allows Orlando to seem in control, the more responsive Dom will be to Orlando in bed. There's a spark there already, Elijah just needs to fuel it. And besides, no matter how hesitantly he started out, Orlando really is an enthusiastic kisser.

  
Dom almost can't believe what's before his eyes; he's momentarily dumbfounded. Elijah's _giving_ , letting Orlando slide over him like a wave, the curve of their bodies undulating, arching, and Elijah's bending. _Elijah_. Even more, though, Orlando's taking, pushing, bracing his hand on the mattress, taut corded muscle in his arms and a veil of dark curls that only affords Dom glimpses of lips and tongues, the flutter of Elijah's eyelashes and the press of Orlando's thumb on Elijah's cheek. And Dom still tastes Orlando on his tongue, even as he watches the two of them, and he tastes want. Dom's fingers itch; he twists them in the bedsheets. He wants to call out a name (but which?), he wants to be a part of this, he wants attention...

He wants it all.

  
Elijah moans, letting Dom have the sound as well as the sight, as Orlando shifts against him and slides, slippery-hard, against Elijah's erection, still trapped and bound beneath the leather trousers. He tilts his head back, letting Orlando feast on his throat, and turns slightly to catch Dom's eyes, to smile knowingly and hum as Orlando's attentions gradually slip lower, unconsciously following the subtle pressure of Elijah's hands, tongue roughly bathing one of Elijah's taut nipples.

Elijah sinks back onto the mattress at Dom's feet, untangling his legs and pulling Orlando with him, drawing him into another slow, scorching kiss. It's all for Dom's benefit, really...Elijah doesn't do anything without Dom being his first concern. But he certainly doesn't mind Orlando's enthusiasm, the way he doesn't even think to wait for Elijah's permission, to even check with him before slipping a hand between them and fingering the zipper of Elijah's trousers, cupping the bulge between his legs. Elijah lets his eyes flutter shut, allowing Orlando to maul him, feeling Dom's eyes on him like burning coals.

It's harder to think in French, with Orlando working his way steadily into Elijah's trousers and mouthing damp heat along Elijah's neck, but Elijah grasps for it anyway, giving Dom the privacy to make the decision without Orlando knowing. "What do you want?" Elijah asks in French, holding Dom's eyes and arching slightly into Orlando's touch as the zipper parts and his erection finally springs free. "Him? Me?" He catches his breath when Orlando slides his hand inside the opened trousers and wraps a hand around his cock, Elijah guiding just enough to keep him moving and reassured.

He relaxes into the tentative stroking, smiling at Orlando and talking softly in French to Dom, twisting Dom's confession into an offer. "Want his fingers? Want him prepping you for me, opening you so I can slide inside?" Elijah makes another soft half-groan and tangles his fingers roughly in Orlando's hair, jerking him down into another kiss as his hips find a rhythm with Orlando's hand. "Want his cock? I could...ah...fuck him while he fucks you, fuck you through him..." He turns his head to the side again, releasing Orlando's hair and winding his arms about Orlando's neck. "Want to suck him off while I fuck you, want to be filled in every way, want us to force you?"

His eyes are dark now, he knows, thoroughly aroused and hungrier for Dom with every sharp breath. He knows what he wants, but the choice needs to be Dom's. He will not push this. He inhales raggedly when Orlando's grip shifts, and his hips push impatiently into the touch. His next words are drawled, liquid-soft and dangerous.

"Or do you just want to watch him fuck me, just like this?"

  
 _Qu’est-ce que tu veux?_ The words are like silk, wrapping around Dom, tying him in knots as he watches Elijah, watches Orlando, this Orlando who seems a bit closer to the haunting image in Dom’s head. What does he want? Chasing through the maze of Elijah’s questions, the French words forcing him to focus, Dom can see flashes of what Elijah’s offering. Some are dead ends, wrong turns that send him skittering in the other direction – _not like before, please_ – but there are some that blossom with colour, spangles of red and orange. The taste of Orlando’s skin, the sound of his moans, the feel of his hands over Dom. Yeah, Dom wants that. More than anything, though, he wants Elijah closer, wants him inside, the strength that overshadows even this new Orlando.

“Je veux toi ici quand il me touche,” Dom breathes. “Inside.” He’s thankful for the concentration the words require, the distraction they create, as much as the privacy; it’s easier this way to stop himself from reaching out. Elijah’s fucking beautiful, and Orlando too, and as much as Dom appreciates that, he wants to be a part of it, not a spectator bound by words. _No touching_. He wants Orlando’s mouth again, wants to run his hands over Elijah, slip between them and let go. But he can’t touch, not yet, not them, not himself. Christ.

“Bitte," he adds, unable and unwilling to shift his gaze from Elijah’s, drawn by the power and the promise he sees there. _Want._

  
Elijah gently coaxes Orlando's fingers away, laces them with his own and studies Dom. "Let him open you for me?" he asks quietly, bringing Orlando's fingers to his mouth and licking between them, nipping at the webbing but keeping his focus on Dom. "Let him feel you? Let me hold you while he does it?"

He sucks one of Orlando's fingers into his mouth and hollows his cheeks, earning a soft groan from Orlando and a whisper of breath from Dom. A hesitation. No, they aren't there yet, but they're closer. Elijah switches tracks abruptly, releasing Orlando's finger with a wet pop and turning to look at him. "Off," Elijah orders, and when Orlando scrambles back he stretches, fitting back into more comfortable skin. The leather clings to him still, but parts around his cock, the opened zipper framing his erection.

"Think about it," he suggests, sliding forward until he's between Dom's thighs, parting them further so the he can massage Dom's perineum. "And in the meantime, you can show Orlando he's forgiven." Elijah switches back to English for Orlando's benefit, his thumb rubbing circles over Dom's entrance. "Orlando, go give Dom something to do with his mouth," he suggests, licking his lips. "Otherwise, I imagine he's going to get loud."

  
“Je ne veux pas penser,” Dom murmurs, and he’s already halfway there – Elijah’s touch has him squirming, setting off the pent-up energy from moments ago, from watching Elijah bend. Watching Orlando take.

Orlando, there he is, eyes glittering like Elijah’s do when he wants Dom, and before Dom can blink Orlando’s closer, _there_ , and there’s no hesitation when he presses his mouth to Dom’s, hard and earnest, tongue sliding along his top lip, _oh_. It’s easy now to let go, sink into Orlando’s hands curving around his neck (sliding across leather), cupping his head. Dom’s lips part on a moan and Orlando pushes in, tongue twisting around his own (and this is what Dom remembers, yeah, only better, Christ). Dom’s stretched between Orlando’s mouth and Elijah’s fingers, nerves singing with heat; Orlando tips Dom’s head back, angling deeper, murmuring, “So good, Dom,” and Dom shivers at the words, at Orlando’s voice. Without a thought, his hands come up, seeking warmth and skin, _Orlando_ , even as Dom’s hips arch helplessly toward Elijah.

  
Elijah has to hold off for another moment to watch Dom and Orlando, because they really are that beautiful; complementary, like the sun and the moon, different but equal. And then Dom quivers, a beautiful, full-bodied tremble under Orlando's kiss, and Elijah's thumb stops rubbing and slides in, the length of his nail. Dom tenses briefly - not from pain, most likely, but surprise - and the moment he relaxes again, Elijah's tongue is there as well, licking teasingly at Dom's entrance, his thumb sliding out as the tip of his tongue takes its place, sliding smoothly into Dom's body.

He has to stop after a few seconds, because Dom is starting to squirm and Orlando isn't keeping him under control. "Smack him for that, Orlando," he warns with a smile, curving his hand around Dom's buttocks and digging his nails into the skin as just the first hint of a threat. "Or find another way to punish him. Keep him under control." He spreads Dom's legs further, kissing the inside of his thigh thoughtfully. "Just make sure he doesn't bite," he recommends with a wink, and then shifts back to the task at hand, coaxing Dom open and stabbing deep without warning.

  
Dom twists with pleasure, unable to hold still under Elijah's onslaught, and for a moment it seems like Orlando didn't hear Elijah, or didn't pick up on the unspoken suggestion that sends Dom's pulse skittering to his cock. Orlando's tongue is still sliding along the roof of Dom's mouth, the back of his teeth, but then Orlando's hands are grasping Dom's, pinning them on either side of his head with enough force to make him blink. And there are Orlando's teeth, sinking into his lip with a bright flash. Dom's panting, trying to catch his breath, caught in surprise by Orlando's strength (though he shouldn't be surprised, really, but it's such a fucking amazing discovery) and he can only stare at Orlando, dark and glistening and hard-edged, a little smirk of triumph on his face.

Dom stills for a moment. Just long enough, it turns out, for Orlando to straddle his chest, dark curls framing Orlando's face as Dom looks up with wide eyes. He never expected Orlando to look like this, be capable of this, sharp and sincere and openly wanting all at once. And when Dom clenches the muscles in his arms, testing Orlando's grip, it holds fast.

Christ.

Dom licks his lips, and when Orlando shifts his hips forward, there's nothing to do but open for him, feel the not entirely unfamiliar weight on his tongue. Dom glances up through his lashes as he closes his lips over Orlando's cock; he can see Orlando's stomach hollowing, up up up to see Orlando's lips parting (and there's sound, too, the rush of breath that Dom wants). And as much as Dom likes to see, he closes his eyes as he curls his tongue around Orlando and hums softly. Without a thought, the flicker of Dom's tongue mimics Elijah's, _oh_ , falling into his rhythm like it's second nature.

  
Elijah's heart twists when Orlando finally relaxes and takes control, commanding Dom effortlessly without words, holding him until Dom stills and complies. Something else twists, too, and Elijah would smile full of wickedness if he wasn't currently bent on pushing Dom as far as he can go, seeing how well Orlando adjusts. This isn't all about Dom, anymore. It's the three of them, and he almost wants Orlando as badly as he imagines Dom does right now. Elijah listens and watches, feels the shifts in tempo and matches Dom rhythm for rhythm, humming Dom's vibrations through his own lips into Dom's body just to feel Orlando jump in response.

They could both take Orlando, he and Dom...they could share him, the way Elijah and Orlando tried to share Dom and couldn't. Although that would mean giving up Dom, and Elijah has no intention of doing that. But maybe just for a little while...

He waits until Dom has grown languorous and relaxed beneath his ministrations, and then withdraws slowly, enjoying the tiny whimper that interrupts the hum when Dom realizes he's gone. Elijah shifts off of the bed briefly, kicking off his trousers at last, finally naked and completely ready to let go. His eyes catch on the couple on the bed; hold.

Orlando is beautiful, moaning, head thrown back and mouth open as Dom sucks him, hips rocking back and forth with the pull of Dom's pursed lips. And Dom's eyes glint, greedy for more, secure in both ability and submission. Elijah wants them so badly that it chokes him, makes his cock twitch hungrily and suddenly he can't decide what he wants most.

That's a lie. He knows. He slides behind Orlando, straddling Dom's hips, matching Orlando's rhythm and rocking in time with him over Dom's cock. His hands slide over Orlando's chest, possessive and respectful, letting Orlando direct but never granting him complete dominance. Elijah's fingers tweak at nipples, scrape over and between ribs; his teeth close over muscle beneath smooth, tanned skin. Orlando's pulse beats against his tongue as he selects a spot on his throat and sucks, intent on leaving a mark and catching Dom's eyes as he does.

  
Dom's nearly dizzy with pleasure; he feels fit to burst when Elijah presses against him, setting his toes curling against the mattress. There's no space for breath, even if he tried...Dom's weighed down, and it's better than he could ever have imagined. Elijah's here, so close, and all Dom wants is for it to be _him_ that Elijah marks. A coil of heat unfurls in his belly, though, watching Elijah latch onto Orlando's skin, seeing him like this. Dom feels Orlando shiver, the sensation transmitted from skin to skin, and he imagines he can feel Elijah's teeth on his neck (beneath the collar, and he can imagine the press of leather against the bruise, too).

Dom's losing focus, nearly forgetting the task at hand until Orlando's cock twitches in his mouth, and he readjusts, taking Orlando in deeper.

But he never stops watching Elijah.

  
"That's it," Elijah murmurs, shifting against Dom's trapped cock, teeth scraping across Orlando's jaw. "Choke him with it, make him beg for you with his eyes..." He rocks again, grinding pressure, and smiles at the way Dom's eyes widen, rhythm stuttering slightly. "Going to fuck you, Dom," he sings out softly, one hand reaching behind him to gather up Dom's balls and twist, slowly...and the rhythm breaks, falling apart until Orlando moans in frustration and Elijah laughs.

"Come help me," Elijah suggests slyly to Orlando, buoyant with the promise of Dom's body, hard and tight with anticipation. He slides off to the side, stretching out beside Dom and taking over the job of restraining from Orlando, massaging Dom's wrists with his thumbs while his fingers curl around and hold. Orlando moves as well, and as soon as Dom's mouth is free, Elijah lays claim to it, licking the taste of Orlando from Dom's swollen lips. "Let's try this again," he murmurs, outwardly relaxed but inwardly vigilant, waiting for any sign that this isn't what Dom wants. "Lube, Orlando. One finger."

  
Dom relaxes, just a fraction, when Elijah moves; it's a chance for him to focus, pull back from the edge and control himself (but it's so hard when Elijah's fucking relentless sometimes, and it's so fucking good). He welcomes the pressure of Elijah's hands, smaller than Orlando's but more practiced, and the stroke of Elijah's thumbs brings a low moan to Dom's lips. He gives it to Elijah in a kiss, gives him everything else, too. _Yours. Want you, want you._ Dom's lost; his world narrows to Elijah's touch and the seemingly endless buzz of pleasure, nerves tingling with anticipation.

The next thing he knows, somewhere back beyond Elijah's overwhelming presence, his mouth and hands, there's the press of a fingertip against his body, slippery and warming on his skin. Dom arches into the touch without thought, and even the belated realization, _Orlando_ , doesn't faze him. Elijah's here, and Elijah's promised him, and everything will be alright.

Things are easy, good now. The slow push of Orlando's finger makes Dom twitch, hot and fierce, and he nearly bites down on Elijah's lip (but he catches himself just in time, and who says he doesn't have willpower?). Dom shifts, trying to bring them closer – Orlando, Elijah, everything – but Orlando stills him with a hand on Dom's thigh, pressing him to the mattress.

  
"Good," Elijah purrs, to both of them; Dom holding himself still and yielding, Orlando taking control and keeping Dom in check. He slides a hand down Dom's stomach, over his hip, skirting his erection, and smoothes his fingers over Orlando's wrist, guiding him in and out of Dom's body. Elijah licks the shell of Dom's ear and hums in pleasure at how well Dom is taking it, and then he gives Orlando's wrist a tiny squeeze and says, "Two."

Dom doesn't really need this; Dom has had Elijah's tongue, and most nights that would be enough for them to at least get started. But it's different, tonight, and Orlando should be involved somehow, even if he won't be the one inside Dom after all. Besides which, Elijah doesn't want to push Dom further than he's ready to go. They've crossed that line already tonight, and Dom is still jumpy.

"Three," Elijah orders, and the hand not covering Orlando's moves up to trace Dom's jaw line, fingers creating a path that his tongue follows a second later, from ear to chin, into the hollow of Dom's throat. Elijah closes his teeth over the skin there, the thin, fragile tendon, and curls his fingers over Orlando's wrist, silently telling Orlando to do the same, to curl inside of Dom.

He rolls the tendon gently between his teeth for a moment, letting Dom get used to the new stretch, the skitter of Orlando's fingertips over his prostrate. And then he releases it, bathing the mark once with his tongue-tip, shifting back to cover Dom's lips, licking them apart but not deepening the contact into a proper kiss. "Four," he commands softly, eyes on Dom's, fingers following the bones of Orlando's wrist to his palm, to his knuckles, to where his fingers are pushed into Dom.

Elijah breathes into Dom's mouth, offering and promising, if Dom is only patient enough. Obedient. "Show me how much you want this," he whispers to Dom's lips, watching Dom's glassed eyes and feeling his fingertips brush Dom's skin as Orlando slowly sinks forward. "Show me that you want me inside of you."

  
Oh god. Dom can't speak, can barely move; if he does, if he shifts just a little bit, into Orlando's fingers, sparking hot and bright, _oh_ , he'll come undone. Dom's breath stutters in his ears, loud and uneven, and there's enough fire in Elijah's eyes to burn him in an instant, envelop him in glorious heat and blazing pain. He can only look at Elijah, _I'm trying_ , and bite down on his lip as Orlando curls his fingers slowly. Dom trembles, his eyelashes shiver, and he reaches for Elijah.

Dom can do this, he can, ride the stretch and the spangle of pleasure until it borders on agony, the tension of want and need wound tight around each and every muscle in his body. Touch Elijah's shoulder, contact; remember what he wants.

  
"That's it," Elijah murmurs soothingly, stroking Dom's jaw again and glancing down at Orlando...who is trembling slightly, staring at his fingers disappearing into Dom, looking like he's either going to come or be ill. "Easy..." He shifts, scooting down slightly, and gives Orlando a reassuring smile. "Enough?" he murmurs softly, waiting for the shaky nod of affirmation before he holds out a hand, pulls Orlando up so that he slides free of Dom and half-into Elijah's arms.

Elijah flips him onto his back, a tiny feral grin on his lips when he leans in to brush a kiss over Orlando's lips. "You're doing well," he encourages, supporting his weight on his arms so that his hips can slide, cock dragging over Orlando's slowly as his stomach hollows. "You're very good with the lube." He flashes a quick smile at Dom with that comment, including him in the jest.

His attention is mostly for Orlando now, though, because Dom should have enough to hold him until Elijah gets there, and if he takes Dom too soon, they'll never last more than thirty seconds. Dom is too keyed up, hanging on by a thread that Elijah isn't ready to break. Elijah shifts his weight enough to reach for Dom's hand, holding it as he resettles over Orlando. He rocks back and forward again, hot friction, and watches Orlando's eyelashes flutter in response. "Care to share the talent?"

  
Orlando laughs, a little breathless, and when Dom blinks the stars out of his eyes, shifts with the tug of Elijah's hand, he sees the curve of Orlando's lips, parted and inviting. Nerves still twanging, Dom rolls onto his stomach and snakes his head closer to kiss Orlando, stealing breath and whatever answer Elijah was going to get, Dom's tongue tracing Orlando's teeth, teasing. Dom squeezes Elijah's hand and grins against Orlando's mouth.

Pulling away with a last lick to Orlando's bottom lips, just a moment before Dom thinks Elijah's patience will run out, he turns his head toward Elijah and gives him a wide (hopefully angelic) smile.

"Don't you think he's worked hard enough?" Dom wiggles his ass, grimacing in dramatic fashion (and trying to ignore the friction of his cock against the mattress, fuck yeah). "Maybe he deserves a little attention," Dom says, lilting the last words – a request, a question, a desire. He looks to Elijah for the final verdict, though he can't stop his free hand sliding over the sheets toward Orlando's hip.

  
Elijah raises an eyebrow, amused. "Feel like helping?" he drawls, rolling to sit up and smacking Dom's upturned ass over the welts Orlando left earlier, hand snapping out to catch Dom's wrist, bringing it up to his mouth so that he can turn it over and kiss the pulse-point. Dom's eyes are full of mischief, and Elijah suddenly wants nothing more than to shove Dom onto his back and fuck him until they both scream.

But there's still Orlando.

"What do you say?" Elijah asks him teasingly, sliding to the far side of Orlando so that he's trapped between Elijah and Dom - and thank goodness that they have a king-sized - and nudging with his hips until he isn't in as much danger of falling off of the edge. "Do you want attention?" His lips suckle-nibble at Orlando's earlobe, and he releases Dom's wrist, lacing their fingers together and dragging their combined hands over Orlando's tensed thigh, slowly trailing towards where Orlando must want attention the most.

  
Dom grins, his face nearly all teeth, and he drags his thumb across the inside of Orlando's thigh. He's rewarded with a moan that's a shade away from a yelp, and Dom's eyes dart to Orlando's face, and then to Elijah's, just a few inches away.

"I think that's a yes, 'Lijah," Dom confides in a stage-whisper. He giggles, mind racing with possibilities, and scoots closer to Orlando. He dips his head, opens his mouth to lick a wide stripe over Orlando's nipple; pulls back just enough, and blows gently, watching Orlando's skin twist and pucker. Orlando squeaks (squeaks!) and this is all too easy, really, to wind him up, and it's fun, kind of like when they're at the pub, taking the piss out of one another, a never-ending game of one-up-manship, only this is a different kind of challenge.

Dom closes his mouth over Orlando's nipple, sucking lightly, laving with his tongue. He raises his eyes, finding Elijah, and Dom quirks his eyebrow, a silent communication of amusement and daring. Dom urges their linked hands a little higher, until he can brush Orlando's balls with his thumb, feel Orlando twitch beneath them.

  
Elijah smiles and nudges Orlando with his nose until he turns enough for a kiss, and Elijah flays him with it, taunting and taking until Orlando is responding mindlessly, whimpering as Elijah's tongue dips and retreats. He keeps Dom more or less at bay by tugging their hands down just low enough that fingertips can brush Orlando's balls, butterfly-light, but nothing else. Nothing more, which Orlando so obviously wants, his hips pushing up as he quests after Elijah's elusive tongue.

"Pass," he murmurs, smiling, and reaches over Orlando's body to bestow an equally heated kiss on Dom before leaving the playing field open. His lips explore other territory then, nipping at collarbones and pectoral muscles, keeping Orlando swamped in sensation and unable to relieve the pressure.

  
Dom takes a moment to breathe, to watch Elijah flash over Orlando, twist him inside out with a flick of his tongue, touches here, there, everywhere (been there, mate, fucking deadly). The sounds coming from Orlando - needy, thoughtless - are familiar too, and Dom gravitates towards them. He stretches, nuzzling his nose into the hollow of Orlando's throat, feeling the vibrations, bumping over his jaw.

"Hi," Dom murmurs, a smirk and a laugh hiding just below the surface. Orlando blinks in greeting, mouth half-parted and soundless on the intake of breath. Dom kisses the corner of his lips; trails the tip of his tongue along Orlando's top lip, just waiting for him to come out and play. And he does, and there's the aftertaste of Elijah, in the taste of Orlando's tongue and the way he opens for Dom, automatically giving. Dom chuckles, pressing closer. He wriggles his free hand from beneath his stomach and finds Orlando's, spreading his fingers open and sliding easily between; their palms slide together, and Dom's hands are full. What more could he handle?

By the looks of it, Orlando can't handle much more. His eyelids flutter, his breath is coming short and fast against Dom's cheek as he kisses Orlando's face. Dom throws a questioning glance at Elijah, trying to guess how long he'll string Orlando out, and his cock twitches in sympathy as Orlando bucks beneath their hands.

  
Elijah smiles, shaking his head slightly at Dom's inquiring glance, continuing to torment Orlando with feather-light brushes of his fingers against Orlando's balls. He slides a fraction of an inch closer so that he can press one blunt fingertip against the vein on the underside of Orlando's flushed cock, stopping the restless movement of Orlando's hips instantly.

"You should know the rules better than this," Elijah murmurs teasingly, licking cat-like along the shell of Orlando's ear with tiny flickers of his tongue. "If you want something, you have to ask. Or demonstrate adequately that you deserve to get it." He continues to apply pressure to Orlando's cock, moving slowly up the length of it, letting Dom's fingers brush and flutter over the shaft. His hips rock forward slightly, pushing against Orlando's thigh just as he bites down on an earlobe. "Prove you want us, Orlando," he whispers into an exquisitely curved ear. "Beg."

  
 _Bitte,_ Dom thinks, mouthing the word over Orlando's skin, but he doesn't say it. It's not for him, not right now, even though he can't help bending to the tone in Elijah's voice. Dom's fingers tighten briefly around Elijah's, and there's the smooth heat of Orlando's cock on his fingertips, too, leaving an imprint even as he grazes over the skin. He wants to help Orlando, show him how to be good for Elijah. Dom slides his lips over Orlando's jawline, the mild scrape of evening stubble, and his eyes flicker up, meet Elijah's over the profile of Orlando's face.

"Say please," Dom murmurs into Orlando's ear, watching Elijah. He lifts his thumb to skirt beneath the head of Orlando's cock, just a light touch, but Orlando's grasp on his hand clenches and he groans, neck arching, pulse hard in his throat.

"Oh god - " and that makes Dom smile, just a little, hidden in the curve of Orlando's ear. Indeed. _C'mon,_ he urges silently, willing the words to spring from Orlando's lips. _Listen to Elijah. Trust me._ "Please," Orlando grinds out, a shudder making its way from one of Dom's hands to the other. "Please."

  
Elijah meets Dom's eyes briefly - _Your turn next, don't think I'll let it slide_ \- and then gives Orlando what he wants, winding his fingers tighter with Dom's and setting a rhythm for him to follow, fast and rough. Orlando's already close, all he needs is a little push...

Elijah rolls, supporting himself with one elbow, and leans down to nuzzle one of Orlando's nipples. Orlando can't give him anything besides moaning and desperate thrusting, so he looks across to Dom with a grin and raises one eyebrow, licking the top row of his front teeth suggestively and glancing down meaningfully at Orlando's heaving chest, the dark buds of his nipples. Two of them, and Orlando is already a heartbeat away, won't last long now. Just a little push...

  
Dom mirrors Elijah without a thought, and at his order (for that's what it is, and Dom's pushed his luck far enough tonight, from the look in Elijah's eyes) Dom snakes his head low and bites Orlando's nipple, sharp and without warning, following Elijah's lead. At the same moment, he twists with Elijah's grip, and Orlando fucking _keens_ , his whole body arching taut, and Dom pushes through it, feels the pulse of Orlando's orgasm in his palm, keeping with Elijah's pace until Orlando sinks back onto the bed, shuddering and spent. His fingers loosen from Dom's grip, and Dom eases the back of his fingers over Orlando's arm, tracing light patterns as he disentangles his other hand from Elijah's, sticky and warm and deliciously messy.

  
Elijah brushes his lips over Orlando's skin while he comes down, humming softly and touching him, keeping them in contact until Orlando blinks and his eyes clear. "All right?" Elijah inquires gently, his fingers softly stroking Orlando's thigh. Orlando nods shakily, still caught somewhere between bliss and shock, and Elijah smiles hungrily, his own cock twitching hopefully as his gaze focuses on Dom. "Good."

And that's all the warning Dom gets, because Elijah is tired of waiting. He pounces over Orlando, rolling to pin Dom flat on his back, knee nudging Dom's thighs apart as his lips reclaim Dom's mouth, drinking in the surprise and arousal. "Mine," he whispers the reminder, and settles closer, skin to skin, his hands finding their familiar hold on Dom's wrists.

"Still able to take this?" he murmurs, positioning himself at Dom's entrance, pushing forward just a fraction. Dom's head tilts back, baring his throat, and Elijah can't resist biting him hard, right above the collar. He tastes leather and sweat, mixed with the sweet submission of Dom's will as he whimpers and yields, and Elijah shoves home in one smooth thrust.

  
Dom gasps, _fuck yes_ , and even with all the preparation the stretch still burns, narrows his focus to Elijah's cock and _inside_ and _yes_. There's no air in his lungs, from the force of Elijah's weight and now the collar constricting his throat as he strains, but Dom would give it all up, would stop breathing in an instant, if Elijah asked. If Elijah would only keep doing this, overwhelming Dom with teeth and hands and cock and mere _thoughts_.

Dom flexes his wrists, wanting the strength of Elijah's grip, and he opens for Elijah, feels every inch of him inside, wanting more. "'Course I can take it," he groans. "Anything."

  
Elijah hisses, stung by the casual, cocky assurance in Dom's voice, and if that's the way that Dom wants to play this, it's fine with him. "Anything?" he snarls, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Dom's wrists briefly before he lets go with one hand to adjust them - _bend, Dom, fucking bend_ \- to hitch Dom's legs higher so that Elijah can drive in deeper, and he gives Dom the false security of a half-dozen hard strokes before he pins Dom's wrists again and just _stops._

"What about nothing?" he asks, deadly-serious and quiet, warning in the low tone of his voice. He hopes that Orlando has the sense to stay the hell out of this, because punishment is what Dom needs now, what they both need; for Elijah to prove that Dom is still his and nothing has changed. Dom is being importunate so that Elijah will hurt him, but Elijah isn't going to make it that easy.

"You want to come?" he asks, circling his hips inside Dom once, jarring enough to make his teeth clench. "You're going to have to work for it."

He rolls and takes Dom with him, holding them together with one arm wrapped securely around Dom's waist, and then he snags Dom's wrists and pulls them above his head onto the mattress, so that Dom is stretched taut above him and straining. "Fuck yourself, Dom," he purrs softly. "Go ahead, I want to see you do it."

  
Dom gasps, the heat of Elijah's cock unfurling throughout his body, the twinge of muscles and joints as he scrambles for purchase ( _leverage_ ), knees and hands, arching helplessly. Instinctive, futile. Elijah's eyes glint, hard and sharp, as Dom tries to roll his hips down, draw Elijah in, and Dom grunts with the effort. It's too precarious, the shallow curve of his spine, the tension in his shoulders and wrists, barely keeping him from tumbling over Elijah, giving up rather than giving in (and who knows what Elijah would do then).

Dom's cock brushes Elijah's belly as Dom twists, frantic for the merest inch of movement, and something bursts behind his eyes, sharp and hot and far away. Not enough, fuck. He blinks sweat out of his eyes; all Dom can see is Elijah, edged with light, perfectly collected as Dom spins out of control, thrusting uselessly down onto Elijah's cock, little jolts that key him up, fucking sky-high, and stop just short of release.

Dom shakes his head helplessly, his forearms beginning to quiver with strain, and his breath is ragged, whimpers escaping beyond any control.

"Bitte. Bitte, 'Lijah."

  
Elijah shifts, planting his feet on the mattress and pushing his hips up to meet Dom's next thrust, snapping them together so sharply that he sees stars. His hands loosen on Dom's wrists, providing slack, giving Dom enough room to actually pleasure both of them.

"Tranquille," he murmurs, stroking his thumbs over the frantic pulse in Dom's wrists. He shifts Dom's hands to cover his chest, over his heart, and encircles them with one hand. The other hand drops to fist over the head of Dom's cock, not stroking, but remaining stationary so that Dom's upstroke brings them into contact and friction. "Do it, Dom. Show me."

  
Dom shivers, the sound of Elijah's voice washing through him like nothing else, quickening the blood in his veins, spurring him on even as the promise of release slides through the marrow of his bones. Elijah's heart beats against his palm, steady even in its heightened rhythm; Dom strokes his fingertips over Elijah's skin, just brushing his collar bone, and he takes a shaky breath, closes his eyes.

Dom shifts his knees, slowly circles his hips, finding just the right angle, the one that brings Elijah's cock in line with his prostate - the one that makes his eyes snap open as bright shocks of colour burst in his mind and heat spangles through his limbs, sending nerves sizzling. There's Elijah, watching Dom, touching him, and Dom pushes up into his hand, rough friction easing away into the most fucking luscious touch, and Dom's caught between Elijah's hand and Elijah's cock. Dom's head drops; rocking, he gives himself over to sensation ( _been waiting all night for this, want you, 'Lijah_ ) and loses track of time, loses track of everything except Elijah, surrounding him, enveloping him. The rhythm builds like waves, crashing over Dom until they break and he's coming apart in Elijah's hands, gasping and shuddering and giving a harsh cry, fingers scrabbling over Elijah's chest.

  
Elijah catches Dom as he falls, holds him through the trembling and then rolls them again so that Dom is pinned, blinking dazed eyes as Elijah captures his lips for a brief kiss. "Mine," he whispers, but what he means is _yours_ , and _I love you_ , and a few other words that he can't say with Orlando still in the room.

He's hard, fast, brutal; but only because he knows that Dom is already floating, and because he's been up and down an emotional rollercoaster tonight, they both have, and he needs to just fucking let all of this go...

He doesn't bother to hold Dom anymore, he takes Dom's head between his hands and kisses him, hard, with the reverberations of unspoken words echoing between them with each thrust until he finally can't hold on any longer, doesn't want to, and collapses with a strangled cry into Dom's waiting arms.

Movement catches his attention out of the corner of his eye several dizzied seconds later, and he brushes his thumbs gently over Dom's eyes as he nods at Orlando, who is quietly gesturing something to the effect that he'll crash on the couch. Elijah nuzzles Dom's neck and keeps gently caressing him until Orlando has left the room, and then he relaxes with a sigh, pulling Dom into his arms. "How are you feeling?" he asks softly.

  
Elijah's words ease through the thick sleepy fog of Dom's mind; they call him home. He opens his eyes slowly, blinks, focuses on Elijah, who looks pretty much how Dom feels. "Exhausted," Dom exhales shakily. He manages to lift his arms, heavy and sluggish, to wrap around Elijah, keep his comforting weight _there, yes please_. Elijah's skin is damp and cooling – is he not as warm as Dom? Is giving all his warmth to Dom?

Dom wants to be warm, he wants them both to be warm, and he wants Elijah. He wants to say that, but words are too hard right now, and it's easier to trace the knobs of Elijah's spine, feel the spread of Elijah's ribs beneath his palms, and just breathe. Dom burrows closer to Elijah, nudging his nose against Elijah's cheek and feeling his eyelashes skate over Elijah's temple. Somehow, he summons up enough energy for another word, one of many questions still in the far reaches of his mind.

"You?"

  
“About the same,” Elijah murmurs, and he’d be more than happy to just fall asleep like this, in Dom’s arms, except for the nagging feelings of being dirty and sore. “I need to look at those welts,” he reminds them both, but he still can’t quite bring himself to move out of Dom’s embrace. “And we should really wash up...” He manages to tilt his head back far enough to see Dom’s eyes, cloudy with contentment and weariness.

The dark shadow of the collar catches his gaze, and he runs his fingers gently along the smooth leather, flooded with possessive pride. "But maybe we should take this off first." Elijah strokes the soft skin of Dom's throat, slides a finger into the narrow space between flesh and leather. "Are you ready?"

  
Dom closes his eyes, relishing the taut pressure, the edge of Elijah’s fingernail sliding against his throat. _Yours_. He doesn’t know how to say it, but Dom knows that he wouldn’t have made it through this without the security of the collar. How a piece of leather can mean so much, how grateful he is for this gift. Dom’s proud to wear it, too, to be Elijah’s, bound freely.

Dom opens his eyes to find Elijah’s, dark and close. He swallows, feels the stricture of the leather, and Dom reaches for Elijah’s free hand, drawing it up to his throat. Brushing his thumb lightly over Elijah’s fingers, Dom lets his own hands fall to the mattress beside his head. Watching Elijah, captivated by the depths he finds there, Dom nods.

  
Elijah's breath catches, awed by the trust in Dom's eyes. His hands slide to the buckle, working the stiff leather tongue through the metal clasp, and he doesn't realize that he's been holding his breath until the collar slides loose, baring Dom's throat, and he can finally exhale. "Love you," he murmurs, dipping his head to press their lips together for a brief, sweet kiss. "Je t'aime."

He moves away just far enough to place the collar safely on the nightstand, and then he has to strongly resist the temptation to burrow back into Dom's embrace and close his eyes until morning. "Wash," he moans tiredly into the curve between Dom's shoulder and neck, licking at the strip of skin now bared to his tongue, tasting of leather-musk and sweat. A new idea suddenly makes him raise his head again, meeting Dom's eyes with a mixture of hope and curiosity. "How would you feel about a bubble bath?"

  
"Mmm," Dom hums in affirmation, and there’s a strange freedom, no vibration of sound and skin against his bindings. But Elijah’s still here, and when Dom nods he can press his forehead to Elijah’s, a brief moment of touch before his head sinks back to the pillow. A bubble bath sounds divine, fucking perfect in fact, but he doesn't know if he can muster the energy to move to the bathroom. Funny how it was easy enough hours ago, before this...thing began. When it was just him and Elijah, before Orlando came. Except Orlando must have been there somewhere, waiting. He was there, in the house, in Elijah's head, even though Dom didn't know it. Where was he now?

Dom barely has the energy to think about the questions, or the consequences. They'll come soon enough, too soon, and for now he just wants Elijah, pure and simple. Elijah's hands over him, tending the marks he can see, and the ones he can't; he'll get into Dom's head, and Dom wants that. Needs it, especially tonight.

"How're we gonna make it from here to there?" Dom asks Elijah's hair, not releasing his hold.

  
Elijah laughs, finding the strength of will to roll to the side of the bed, out of Dom's reach. "I am not fucking carrying you," he warns with a smile, and stretches briefly as he stands, joints popping as they loosen. "Tell you what," he suggests, turning to face Dom, allowing his body to settle into languidity. "I'll just go and run a bath, and you can come join me if you feel like it."

It's playing dirty and he knows it, but that doesn’t stop his hips from swaying when he walks naked out of the bedroom to go run a bath. Lavender salts, that sounds good. And bubble bath. Hell yes. He's confident enough in his masculinity to appreciate girly bath stuff when he wants to. And he wants it right now.

  
The flicker of desire at the sight of Elijah stretching and slinking out of the room like a sated cat can't quite make it from Dom's brain to his limbs; his arm flops over his face and Dom closes his eyes. Part of it, too, is sheer stubbornness. Elijah just _expects_ Dom to follow him, but Dom's got a mind of his own. Sure, Dom wants a bubble bath (and he always wants Elijah), but it can be on his own terms, and he'll get there in his own good time. Make Elijah wait for once, yeah?

But the bed is cold. Dom grasps at the covers; the fabric is rough against his skin, and Elijah's absence leaves space for thoughts, too much space. Dom shakes his head against the pillow as he thinks of Orlando again, wondering, and he tries instead to see Elijah in his head, matching the sounds of the running taps down the hall (Elijah bending over the tub, laying towels out, thinking of everything).

Elijah, not Orlando, is waiting for him. Orlando's clothes are gone; where did he go? Living room, most likely. When did he leave? Oh... Dom squeezes his eyes shut. Did Orlando see him, see him pushing, see Elijah punishing? Christ, no. Please. The thought is enough to rouse Dom, feet slipping onto the chill floor, body aching. His hand reaches out for the towel hanging on the back of the door, and Dom wraps it tightly around his hips, ignoring the discomfort of friction and movement. It's only a few steps down the hallway, but Orlando's still here, and somehow it's better this way.

Dom peeks around the doorway, left and right. The main part of the house is dark, but the light from the bathroom, and the sounds within, are inviting, and Dom goes.

  
Elijah has just poured the last capful of bubble liquid into the tub when Dom appears, blinking into the light, towel around his hips; and Elijah just stares. Dom looks thoroughly debauched, red chafe marks still bright around his wrists, bruises just beginning to darken his skin. Elijah swallows, offers a faint smile. "Bath?" he suggests, breaking out of his reverie. "Here, turn around first..."

Dom doesn't protest when Elijah tugs the towel away and drops to one knee, running a cautious fingertip over the welts Orlando left, wincing when he sees the lines crisscrossing his own from the night before. But Orlando hadn't lied; there's no blood, and they should heal within the week. "Good," he murmurs, patting the unmarked flesh of Dom's hip before rising.

Elijah turns off the taps and steps into the tub, sinking into blissfully hot water and leaning back against the side of the bathtub. Dom is watching him, dark-eyed and still, and Elijah's heart lurches unexpectedly. He extends a hand, biting back the nervousness still lurking just beneath the surface. "Join me?"

  
Dom nods; he tries to speak, but nothing's there. He doesn't know where to begin, and he can't think about the end. This isn't it, he knows, it's not over. But he wants to forget, to sink into the hot water and Elijah's arms and find a moment of peace because he just can't handle it right now.

Dom takes a step toward the tub and Elijah's watching him, sharp and careful, as Dom reaches out. His fingers brush Elijah's palm, curling over skin, and Dom's inexpressibly grateful when Elijah's fingers close over his, strong and gentle, anchoring. And Dom can move, now, one foot over the side of the tub, and then the other; sinking carefully to his knees, hearing the bubbles whisper, and Dom balances himself between Elijah's hand and the tub ledge. The water is hot and soothing, even as it awakens the nerves of bruised and welted skin, and makes Dom hiss softly as he lowers himself completely, snugging close to Elijah.

Dom closes his eyes for a moment, enveloped by bubbles and secured by Elijah's touch, at last able to relax, let his whole being just drift. But he blinks soon enough, finds Elijah's eyes on him, gauging, waiting for the right moment, waiting for Dom to be okay. And as much as Dom wants to stretch out, let the water wash over them, let the whole world shrink to the two of them, he knows what has to come before that. Tonight, maybe more than ever, he and Elijah need to debrief, sort out the whats and whys and hows, with all the attendant effort and thought involved. Maybe not right now (maybe they could just be, just for a little while), but soon. Elijah won't let Dom fall asleep without seeing this through, that Dom knows.

At least he feels more alert now, with every movement twinging bright under the water, giving him something to focus on. Dom takes Elijah's hand in both of his, opening Elijah's palm, dragging his thumb along the curve of skin, marvelling at the softness there. Dom's lashes flicker; he looks up at Elijah and tries not to plead.

  
Elijah sighs at the look in Dom's eyes, but he also finds himself smiling, and his fingers run soothing patterns along Dom's ribcage. "Don't look at me like that," he chides gently, pressing a kiss into Dom's sweaty hair. The water is hot enough to create steam, and it's doing a good job of destroying what was left of Dom's usual softened spikes. Elijah has often thought that Dom's hair makes an excellent metaphor for the whole man.

Elijah splashes water absently over Dom's stomach with his free hand, then reaches up to daub bubbles over Dom's nipples. "Talk to me, liebchen," he urges, keeping his tone as light as he can. "Tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

  
"Too much." Dom gives Elijah a small smile, trying to soften the honesty that twists in his throat. He doesn't even know how to begin to process this. Dom bumps his forehead against Elijah's shoulder, rubbing his nose over the damp skin. He pulls at Elijah's hand, lifting it and ducking his head so he can burrow closer, feel the weight of Elijah's arm on his neck. Dom weaves their fingers together; presses his thumb to the blunt edge of a nail; dips to kiss Elijah's knuckles. Touching helps, yeah, but it's still a distraction technique, and it won't work forever.

"I don't want things to change." Dom takes a slow, measured breath, trying to still the questions racing in his mind. (Where is Orlando? Is he okay? What happens next?). One floats to the surface, and maybe it doesn't even matter, but Dom doesn't have the faintest impression of Orlando's presence after Elijah pounced on him, and that worries Dom. If Orlando was there, when Dom was open (vulnerable, completely), when he was _Elijah's_ , what did that mean?

"Did he see us?"

  
"Orlando?" Elijah asks, frowning slightly, confused about when, exactly, Dom is talking about. "He was there the whole time, yes. I thought you wanted him to be." Elijah shifts slightly, trying to shelter Dom as much as he can without them ending up at awkward angles. "Is that not what you wanted?"

He lifts a hand to brush water through Dom's hair, massaging his scalp lightly. "And what do you mean, you don't want anything to change? After tonight? You want Orlando to stay?" It doesn't feel right, like Dom, but he's not going to put words in Dom's mouth before he's ready. And he knows that he has a habit of firing off too many questions at once, so he forces himself to stop talking and just strokes Dom's hair. Whatever it is, they have time to figure it out together, before the morning and the inevitable talk with Orlando.

  
Dom often wonders how Elijah puts up with him at times like this, when Dom gets so frustrated with himself that he can barely stand it; how could someone else? He shakes his head, and takes a moment to gather the words in his head.

"No, I don't want Orlando," Dom says, clamping down on the guilt of having, however unwittingly, brought Orlando here in the first place. "I want to be friends with him again. I want you, 'Lijah...no one else. No more." And Dom looks Elijah straight in the eye, because this is important, and he has to be strong.

Dom tries not to think about Elijah's words ( _there the whole time_ ). He doesn't want those moments (his moments, his and Elijah's) coloured by a phantom presence in his memory. "I didn't want him to see...afterward. That was," and Dom reddens at the thought of an unintended audience, "private."

  
Realization finally hits, and Elijah's lips part in surprise. _Oh, Dom..._

He pulls Dom tighter against him, sighing. "Then we don't do this again," he says honestly, because it really is as simple as that. He aches for Dom, though, for a dream that Elijah caused him to lose. Maybe if he had allowed Dom to cherish it, instead of pushing him to face the possibility, this wouldn't have turned out as it had.

He continues to comb through Dom's hair, looking for the right words to appease him. "Dom, if Orlando hadn't seen that, at the end, you and I," he begins carefully, "I don't think that he would have understood. And as far as he went tonight, I think that he deserved to share in it. He tried, he really did, but it wasn't exactly the best introduction we could have given him." He shifts quickly, forcing Dom's chin around so that their eyes meet. "Not blaming you. I'm just saying. It was rough on all of us, Orlando included."

He softens again, leaning in to brush a kiss across Dom's lips. "Besides, even if it was private...and I think he understand that...you were beautiful. I couldn’t have been more proud of what we are together." He intertwines his fingers with Dom's, squeezes gently. "I'm glad he saw."

  
Elijah's right (isn't he always?), and just hearing him say those words helps. Besides, there's not much Dom can do now, after the fact, and the water's so warm, wiping away the thoughts that might have been disturbing someplace else, some other time. And Elijah's here.

But it hurts, too, to think about Orlando. Dom didn't mean for it to be like this; it wasn't fair to spring something like that on someone. And Orlando tried, Dom can see that now, and it's not his fault it wasn't enough. Things just got mixed up, in Dom's head, and then in their bed, and if Dom was in Orlando's position, he doesn't know if he could have handled that. How is Orlando handling it? Can they go back to before? Will they be alright?

"I'm sorry," Dom murmurs. "I don't know what happened...back then, now. Will he be okay?" If anybody can fix this, it's Elijah, and Dom fervently hopes that Elijah can help Orlando. Dom feels lucky, sitting here in the tub, bubbles drying on his skin, watching his toes shrivel into raisins. He's got Elijah, and that's probably the only reason he's made it through this night. Exhausting, exhilarating, terrifying, all of it.

  
"He'll be fine. Talk to me, Dom, stop thinking." Elijah forces the exasperation completely out of his voice, tries to find a way to break Dom out of his own internal whirlwind of doubts and fears. "Tell me about what happened. How did you feel when we started it? Was it what you wanted? Not what you expected?" He splashes the water up over Dom's torso, trying to keep him warm in the cooling water. "Was it wrong from the beginning, or did you like the way Orlando touched you?" He kisses Dom's cheek and then his shoulder, tongue flickering out to capture droplets of water from warm, clean skin as he whispers. "There are no wrong answers here."

  
Dom tilts his head back against the warm tile, letting Elijah's touches wash over him like the water, letting everything else go.

"It was a shock, in the beginning. I didn't expect it, yeah?" A chuckle rises in Dom's throat; really, with Elijah, if he'd thought it through, he should've guessed. But Orlando still came as a surprise. "It was okay at first. You were there, and he was still Orli...I knew him. But after, when he hit me...that wasn't what it was about, years ago. Not with him. There's moments, flashes, but it's all unconscious with him. Orlando doesn't know his own power. Doesn't know how to use it." The words are loose, now, and Dom can't halt them, even though his brain is barely half a step ahead of his mouth.

"I can't give myself to someone like that, to anyone, except you. _Le meilleur_. You're stuck with me, 'Lijah." Dom exhales softly, Elijah's hair tickling his nose. He presses a kiss to Elijah's head.

"It was okay for awhile; I could handle it. But then I lost you, somehow...I don't know. But that wasn't what I wanted, not Orlando, not like that. I'm sorry if I scared you. Scared myself. It hasn't happened in years, and back then I was just figuring things out...I think I safeworded a lot more easily. And you've never given me a reason to. It was strange."

Dom quiets for a moment, words tangling in his throat. "But then you were there."

  
Elijah bumps Dom, tickles him into turning onto his stomach so that they're nose to nose as Elijah slides further into the water, bubbles sticky and fizzling as they shift, water sloshing over skin. "I'm always here," he murmurs, stretching up for a kiss, drawing Dom down and enfolding him in slippery-wet arms.

"What about later?" he asks, after a brief pause for the exploration of Dom's mouth, familiar and welcoming as ever. "When it was the three of us; was it still not right? Or was Orlando more in the role you expected? When he was with me, with you?" He nibbles on Dom's ear, lazily tracing patterns of foam onto Dom's back. "Was that something you wanted?"

  
Dom has to force his eyes open; if Elijah's not careful, he'll be lulled to sleep in minutes. He needs to find something to focus on, to counter the soothing invitation of Elijah's fingers grazing over him, the warm water lapping at his sides, the temptation just to sink and sleep. But they're not done yet – focus, focus. Elijah's skin. Dom slips down, and there's the delicious wet friction of his body against Elijah's; he presses his lips to Elijah's neck, and lower, just inches above the water level. Elijah's skin is fresh and clean beneath Dom's tongue, and there's the faint scent of flowers – lavender? It makes Dom smile, and he brushes his nose over Elijah's shoulder.

Dom shifts again, looking up at Elijah, resting his chin on Elijah's chest. He thinks about the questions, and it's odd to try and sort out what was going through his head, figure out how much of what he wanted was Elijah, and what part of it was Orlando.

"I don't think I expected any of it," Dom answers honestly. He can feel Elijah's heartbeat under his chin, steady and calming. "I guess...it was new. It was better after, of course, and I was able to enjoy it well enough, I suppose. But I couldn't let go, knowing he was there."

Dom hesitates. How can he describe what Orlando is – and was – to him, and how things got all jumbled? "Last night," and was it really only last night?, "when you asked me...I wasn't thinking. What happened back then, in New Zealand, it was just a couple of mates having a snog. Things get out of control sometimes, yeah? And I knew what I wanted, and I saw a bit of that in Orli, but it wasn't anything planned. Afterward, nothing happened, and I let it go." That was before Elijah came to him, did what Orlando couldn't or wouldn't, and at that moment Dom knew there was no going back. He didn't want to.

"Maybe Orlando and I could have had something, I don't know. But it wouldn't have lasted. He didn't go after me; he was back to his old self by morning. Potential, but no follow-through. Which was fine, but I guess somewhere along the line it got built up in my head. What if he could have done it? What if he could have been like you?" He tilts his head to look up at Elijah, and even now, in the midst of bubbles and lavender soaps with a lapful of Dom, he's got that power, that strength. So much that he knows when he doesn't need to use it, and it leaves Dom in awe.

"But Orlando's not like you." And it's not really a disappointment, because it's not a surprise. "I knew, somehow, that he never could be, outside of my head. I didn't really want _him_ there, you see? It never existed." Dom's voice drops; he murmurs, "What I wanted – what I _want_ \- is you. You know that, right?"

  
Elijah smiles, moves to stroke Dom's hair and ends up leaving tufts of bubbles in his wake. "I know." He rolls his hips lazily, just to see Dom's look of surprise as the water ripples up around them. "Why didn't you want him to see us together?" he asks curiously, slicking strands of hair away from Dom's face. "I mean, I know it was private - I think so too - but I thought, once he was there..." He leans back with a soft sigh and a contemplative look. "You could have told me, you know. About you and him. I don't mind."

  
Dom nuzzles Elijah's chest, feeling tiny goose bumps rising in the cooling air. He slides his cheek over skin, breathing deeply. "I would've told you," he whispers, "if I'd remembered."

Dom arches his back, settling further between Elijah's legs with a slow smile. "And with Orlando there, seeing us...well, I know I wasn't on my best behavior." He laughs softly at the glint in Elijah's eye, the one that says he's got Dom's number, and he knew all along. Of course. It's already easier to look back on those moments, the distance of words helping to smooth out the rough edges.

  
"It was what we both needed," Elijah answers softly, skimming his hands down the sides of Dom's spine. "I don't regret it. Not any of it." He smiles briefly, and then squirms up, tugging Dom with him. "Rinse, and bed. I need sleep, and Orlando might want the shower sometime tonight."

He drains the tub and turns on the showerhead to rinse the suds from their bodies, with just enough energy left to play with Dom, pushing him gently in and out of the spray, up against the wall for a kiss, back under the water just so that Elijah can watch it cascade down his face. The soap-lather job is brief, but at least they're both clean by the time he's done, and Elijah wants nothing more than to snuggle under cool sheets and not think about morning. He'll deal with it when it gets here.

"I'm falling asleep still damp," he announces with a grin, wrapping a towel around his hips and backing out into the hallway. "Deal with it."

  
Dom halts his attempt at towel-drying his hair and makes a face at Elijah. He takes a step forward, following with squelching footsteps. "I could lick you dry, if you like." He smirks and makes a half-hearted grab at Elijah's towel, just curling his hand around warm skin and terrycloth. "'Course," Dom adds thoughtfully, "I'm so knackered that you'd probably wake up with my drool in your belly button." He shrugs and pulls Elijah closer, dropping his head on Elijah's shoulder.

"Take me to bed?"

  
"So needy," Elijah murmurs, but he's happy, exhausted and happy, and he loves that Dom needs him like this. Somehow they maneuver their way through the hall and into the bedroom, which still smells of sex and sweat, and Elijah is just too fucking tired to change the sheets, so he pulls up the covers and grabs an extra comforter and top sheet from the closet.

Dom hits the bed with a soft 'whump' when Elijah pushes him, and then they're both tumbling into each other, onto the bed, into dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> For our beloved wife. Kate, darling, we love you. Many thanks to Captnobvious for the beta.


End file.
